The Connection
by Daring Duo
Summary: A tag to The Real World by Merlin71, Kodiak Bear Country, and Titan5.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **We don't own any part of Stargate Atlantis.

**Note: **This is a tag to The Real World and is a collaborative effort between Merlin71, Kodiak Bear Country, and Titan5.

**THE CONNECTION . . . Part 1**

John hated being stuck in isolation. He was in a different room than Elizabeth, which meant he didn't know what was going on. And since he was being continuously scanned, the way she was, he couldn't get up and move around to alleviate some of his anxiety. It didn't help that he knew Carson was going to bitch at him later for breaking isolation protocols in the first place.

Closing his eyes, John tried doing math problems in his head. He needed the distraction, but he couldn't concentrate. He'd been plagued with a headache since they'd had their encounter with the Asurans. In fact, it had started right after Oberoth had invaded John's mind. Weirdly enough, it had kicked up several notches in intensity after Elizabeth had collapsed. Becoming irritating enough that John had asked a nurse for Tylenol. He'd convinced her not to ask Beckett about it because the man was busy trying to keep Weir alive and all John had was a headache. What he had now, however, was a cross between a migraine and a tension headache. After touching Elizabeth, connecting with her, the pain in his head had started feeling like someone stabbing him in the temples with a knife.

"Colonel?"

Eyes flying open, John turned his head. Carson was standing there, minus his Isolation suit. "How is she?"

Carson was smiling. "She's better. She's going to be fine."

"That's great." Relief flooded through John and he sat up. "So I can get out of here now?" He started peeling off the sensor pads Beckett had him hooked up to.

"I suppose," Carson allowed, moving over to help him. "You do know that I'm not happy with you, Colonel. Right?"

John would have nodded only it would have hurt too much, so he settled for making puppy dog eyes. "Sorry. But I knew I had to touch her to make the connection."

Carson paused in what he was doing to lock eyes with John. "Make the connection?" he echoed. "What exactly do you mean by that?"

"I mean...I knew she needed physical contact to hear me." John kept peeling and finally he was free. He pushed the blankets aside and stood up only to sway on his feet when the floor tilted hard beneath him.

"Easy there, Colonel," Carson said, gripping his shoulders and steadying him. "I think you'd better sit back down."

John pulled away, still swaying a bit but locking his knees and staying upright out of pure stubbornness. "No, I'm fine. I just stood up too fast."

But Carson was studying him too closely and shaking his head. "You don't look fine. You're pale and shaky and you're going to sit back down so I can do a full exam on you."

"I don't need an exam!" John snapped, regretting it instantly as pain rang in his head. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe through the nausea it caused.

"Doctor's orders," Carson said softly, knowing he would win the argument as CMO of Atlantis. In a sense his word was law.

John stifled a moan and sat down on the edge of the bed when Beckett pushed him there. "Look...I'm just tired and I need some food." Not that he was the least bit hungry at the moment. In fact, he was pretty sure he'd hurl just from the smell of food. "I haven't eaten since yesterday and I need some sleep. That's all."

Carson had his penlight out and he shined it in John's eyes. Which hurt like hell and John hissed and tried to pull away. Carson looked grim. "How long have you had a headache?" he prompted.

"Since I had my mind probed," John replied. He figured if he was honest enough, maybe Beckett would give him a break.

"Did the aspirin Lucy gave you help?" Carson queried.

John blinked at him in surprise. "She told you about that?"

Carson looked smug. "My staff tells me everything. Remember that in the future."

"I will." John sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Look, Doc...I'm just tired and hungry. Let me go eat, shower and sleep for twelve hours and I'll be fine."

"Somehow I doubt that," Carson responded.

John did the puppy dog eyes again. "Let me try it my way and if I'm not better by this time tomorrow you can poke and prod me all you like."

Carson made a face and seemed to consider the offer. After a moment he nodded. "Fine, and I'm holding you to your word, Colonel."

"Of course," John replied, standing up again. This time the world didn't tilt. He was sure he'd be fine after a good night's sleep, so it wasn't as if he'd have to worry about Carson and his prodding. "Can I see Elizabeth before I head to my room?"

"Just for a moment," Carson stated. "She's resting."

John patted Beckett on the arm. "I'll just take a peek at her, then go." He headed out and into the other room. Elizabeth looked peaceful now and John felt another wave of relief wash over him. He went to her and found himself gripping her arm, wanting the brief contact. Only the moment he touched her, pain flared in his temples and the lights went out.

THE END...of part one


	2. Chapter 2

**Note: **I know this is posting strange, but I can't figure out how to fix it. I hope you don't mind. And thank you for the wonderful reviews!!

**THE CONNECTION . . . Part 2**

When John opened his eyes, he wasn't where he was supposed to be. This  
wasn't the infirmary, although it definitely was a hospital of some  
kind. There was a bed along the rear wall, right next to the window.  
Standard hospital bed, blue sheets, and he could see the railing resting  
along the frame.

How'd he get here? And where was _here_?

It wasn't until he started towards the door, that John realized he was  
wearing scrubs. What the hell? They hadn't made him change earlier, and  
Carson had agreed to let him leave, so what was going on?

Intending to find answers, Sheppard grasped the door knob and twisted.

In an ideal world, it would've opened. But this wasn't the ideal world,  
this wasn't even the ideal galaxy. So, it wasn't much of a surprise  
when it only turned a slight amount either direction. Locked.

John banged on the door and shouted, "Hey! Let me out!"

There was a window in the door, face level, and he peered through it,  
seeing only an empty hall. He banged again, getting pissed. This wasn't  
funny. One moment he'd been on Atlantis, standing next to  
Elizabeth…Elizabeth! Shit, the nanites…what if he'd been infected after all?

His banging must have been heard, because he saw a man, tall and  
somewhat lean, dressed in a dark blue suit come around a corner. A woman  
dressed in baby blue scrubs, brunette hair, tailed behind him, and they  
were coming at his door. Suddenly wary, John stepped back as he listened  
to the jingle of keys being thrust into the lock.

The man entered, his bearded face greeting him politely. "Good morning,  
Doctor Weir. I'm Doctor Adam Fletcher."

Doctor Weir? John looked behind him, confused, then back to the man. "I  
think there's been some…mistake here." And the mistake was probably his.  
John was pretty sure something to do with the nanites was going on. He  
remembered when he'd been able to get into Elizabeth's hallucination,  
her dreams, or whatever the hell it was…she'd been living a false  
reality. Was it happening to him, did he pick up some kind of psychic  
echoes of what she'd seen?

Doctor Fletcher considered him carefully, much the way his team had when  
he'd been confused in the Asuran cell. When he'd been confused and they  
hadn't known what he was talking about when he'd asked about how they'd  
gotten recaptured after escaping. Well, he'd asked something along the  
lines of wanting to know how they'd gotten back in the cell, and that's  
when everyone had given him startled looks that let him know apparently  
there had never been an escape.

"I'm sorry, Doctor Weir. There's been no mistake. You're in the acute  
care unit of Willaby State Hospital."

John turned and stared again at the bed, then roamed his eyes around the  
room, taking in the water fountain. "It's Sheppard," he said.

"Sheppard?"

Fletcher's eyes had narrowed, and he was studying John very carefully.  
Too carefully.

"Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, United States Air Force." He walked  
towards his bed, wanting to put some room between him and the doctor.  
After he felt comfortable enough with the distance, he smiled  
confidently. "I'm not Doctor Weir. And I don't belong here."

If it was a hallucination, he could handle it. John had been screwed  
with before and had figured it out quick enough. Aliens were always  
trying to mess with his head.

"I see," Fletcher replied. John had to hand it to him, the doctor wasn't  
giving much away. He inhaled and stepped in a little more, leaving the  
door slightly open, but John knew the nurse was there. "John, then. Do  
you remember why you are here?"

"Because I must've got infected by nanites?" He made the guess with a  
grimace.

"Nanites?" Fletcher's face remained blank, but he gestured at the door.  
"Doc…John, why don't we discuss this in my office?"

"Colonel," John corrected. He also sat down. "I'd prefer to stay." If  
this was something to do with Elizabeth, he figured maybe doing things  
different, going against what this Fletcher wanted might change things  
enough that he could wake up from this. He had uncomfortable visions of  
his body on a gurney, clear plastic curtains draped all around.

Then again, maybe not, because Fletcher just shrugged and smiled.  
"Whatever you prefer, John."

"Colonel."

Fletcher approached the window, after waving at the nurse to shut the  
door and leave them alone. He leaned against the sill, folding his arms  
across his chest. "You came here three days ago, after collapsing during  
a speech. Do you remember?"

"No. Look, let's get to the point instead of wasting time. What happens  
next?"

"I'm sorry?"

John shifted his attention to the door, wondering if it was unlocked. He  
could make a run for it, and he'd probably make it, but he wanted to  
avoid anything that might end up with him under tighter security. He  
liked his freedom, being able to move around freely, and John wanted to  
get a better feel for what was going on. This wasn't real, he was  
convinced of that, and he was even more sure this was something from  
Elizabeth. He'd touched her again…hadn't he? After he'd been released.  
Was it possible she hadn't been nanite free at that point, despite what  
Carson had thought with his scans? What if the nanites had been hiding  
in her, waiting? Crap.

Rubbing his temple, John gestured at the door. "What happens now? Let's  
just skip past the pleasantries and take me where she went next."

"If you like, you can speak to General O'Neill."

"O'Neill?" John straightened from his slump. "General O'Neill? He's here?"

That was…unexpected. Fletcher nodded, sliding off the window sill, and  
moving towards the door. "Yes, you were working together on the UN  
accord for non-nuclear proliferation." He knocked, and John heard the  
nurse unlock the door. So, it had been locked…nice to know. After the  
door was open, Fletcher talked to the nurse for a moment, then turned to  
John. "Come with me."

He debated not going. But, then again, he was curious. John felt kind of  
like a voyeur into Elizabeth's thoughts, or, hallucinations,  
whatever…yet, if he'd been infected somehow, if this was like what she'd  
gone through, then he needed to know as much as he could find out. John  
didn't know what was going on, he didn't know if Carson was trying to  
get him through this, hell, Elizabeth had said it'd seemed like a  
lifetime…what if he was still standing next to her bed, touching her  
arm, and it'd been only seconds? That was a scary thought.

John followed Fletcher out the door.

OoO

He paid attention to the hallways, the personnel he saw, as Fletcher led  
him to what seemed like some kind of community room. There were other  
patients, some playing cards, an easel and couches.

"Why don't you sit, get comfortable, and General O'Neill should be here  
soon."

John thought about saying that was awfully convenient. That a General  
could just drop everything they were doing, and rush over to visit the  
mentally disturbed, but then again, this wasn't _real_. He was a little  
surprised that O'Neill hadn't just magically appeared out of thin air in  
front of him.

Still staring at the room, John nodded absently. "Sure."

There was a door, and the man standing near it in white didn't look like  
he was there just to warm the floor. So, it wasn't going to be as simple  
as walking out of here if he wanted to. John aimed for the window,  
pushing his fingers through the slats to create enough of a hole to peek  
outside. A parking lot was below. Boring, and didn't tell him nothing  
new. Disappointed, he let the slats snick back into place, and turned  
back to the room.

He really shouldn't have been surprised to see O'Neill striding towards  
him. Got to love hallucinations.

"Doctor Weir," greeted O'Neill.

John stared at him. Then he tilted his head a little, curious. "What do  
you see?"

"What?"

"What do you see," repeated John.

O'Neill had his Air Force hat in one hand, and he looked slightly  
disturbed by the question. He smiled tightly and said, "Thank you, I  
believe I will have a seat."

John fought off the urge to roll his eyes. "Sir, I'm not Doctor Weir.  
I'm Colonel Sheppard. We met at McMurdo, when I flew you to the Ancient  
outpost. I'm in some kind of…" he trailed off seeing the 'this person's  
nuts' expression steal across O'Neill's face. "You don't believe me."  
John sat on the couch opposite O'Neill. "Why would you, this is her  
hallucination, after all. So, what do you have to say? Glad I'm getting  
help, hope I get better, what?"

"Colonel Sheppard," repeated O'Neill, skeptically. He kind of waved his  
hat towards John. "Sure, I can go with that. So, how can I help?"

"You can get me out of here."

O'Neill chuckled and leaned back. "As much as I could use you in the  
negotiations, I'd prefer to wait until you're not going to collapse on  
me again."

Biting back the urge to retort he hadn't collapsed, John stared at  
O'Neill, trying to think of what next. That's when O'Neill's head seemed  
to warp, shake, mutate, and for a moment, it was a dark blur of  
something…what the hell? Then, O'Neill's head was back to normal, and  
the general was staring at him enigmatically.

"Okay," John said. He stood, backed away, because that…that was a little  
freaky. The nanites? What? It was the first time something had appeared  
off in this little hallucination. "I guess I'll…" he backed up even  
more, just trying to put some distance between them. "…I'll see you  
later," John finished lamely.

But instead of leaving, O'Neill narrowed his eyes at John suspiciously.  
"Colonel?"

The way the general said it, John almost believed that the hallucination  
knew exactly who he was, and that…that creeped him out even more.  
O'Neill was standing, but moving towards him, not the door, and John  
decided maybe it was time to see what was on the other side of that  
door. The guard wasn't going to be a match for him, and he made a lunge  
for the unsuspecting man. Just like he'd thought, a punch, and a toss,  
and the guard was out of the picture, but the door rattled unforgiving  
in his hand. Shit.

"Why don't you sit down," O'Neill suggested softly behind him.

John turned around, the door hard against his back. "I prefer to stand."

The thing about hallucinations – anything can happen. Though he had a  
locked door against his back, the guard out for the count, two more  
appeared next to O'Neill, and Doctor Fletcher, and as soon as John saw  
the hypodermic in Fletcher's hand, he knew he was screwed. If it'd just  
been the medical personnel, John could've carpeted the floor with them,  
but O'Neill, even older as he was now, would be able to take him down.

Then again…this was a hallucination, right? So maybe the nanites  
wouldn't know about O'Neill's special ops…oh, crap. If this was a  
hallucination, then he'd just thought about it, and given the nanites  
everything they needed. Damn.

"I'm betting this isn't a good time to say 'just joking?'"

That's when they came at him.

The two medical tech, guards, whatever, he took them out easily. Just  
like the other, but then O'Neill sucker punched him, and before he could  
shake off the stars obscuring his vision, the guards were back, each  
holding an arm and shoulder, and Fletcher was there, jabbing the needled  
into John's arm.

"Son of a bitch," he managed to swear, before everything went dark.

The end…of part two


	3. Chapter 3

**THE CONNECTION...part 3**

John came awake with a jolt, sitting bolt upright and gazing around frantically. Even as he took in the familiar surroundings of the Atlantis infirmary, he couldn't help searching for Dr. Fletcher and his white uniformed goons. Thankfully, none of them were around. Just Carson who came bustling over to him.

"Colonel, how are you feeling?" Carson asked as he reached him. Automatically he began checking John's vitals.

"You tell me," John countered, pushing up against the pillows and trying to relax. But he could feel himself shaking a bit and that bothered him. He also felt like shit warmed over. His head ached and so did his body, and he realized he felt a bit cold.

Carson sighed and grabbed a nearby stool. He sat down and locked eyes with Sheppard. "Well let's start with what you remember last."

John closed his eyes, rubbed his temples and tried to conjure up his most recent _real_ memory. "I was checking on Elizabeth."

"That's right," Carson confirmed. "You touched her and the next thing I know you collapsed like a house of cards."

"Oh." John didn't remember that. "How long was I out?"

A glance at his watch and Carson replied, "Over two hours. I was beginning to worry. For the record, you're going to be here for a few days. At least until I get your temperature down. And if I can't get you better hydrated soon, you're getting an IV."

John made a face at that. "Ya know, I am a bit thirsty. Got any water handy?" He would do everything he could to avoid an IV.

"I just happened to have some handy," Carson drawled. He got up and retrieved a glass with a straw. "The more you drink the better."

"Right." John took a small sip. His throat felt dry but his stomach felt queasy and he didn't want to risk puking in front of Beckett. That would guarantee him an IV. He gave up after three sips and handed the glass back. "So...how's Elizabeth doing?"

Carson heaved a sigh. "She's doing much better. She woke up briefly then fell back to sleep. A healing sleep this time."

John was relieved to hear that. "Good. Did she say anything when she woke up?" He wondered if maybe she was aware of him being connected to her. Or, rather, to her hallucination. Because he couldn't figure out how else what was happening to him could happen."

"She just asked what happened and pretty much fell asleep before I could finish telling her," Carson replied.

"But she's nanite free now, right?" John asked. And it was a very VERY important question to him.

Carson frowned at John. "Of course she's nanite free. I told you she's better. She wouldn't be if she was still infected. Are you feeling all right, Colonel?" He reached out to press his palm to John's forehead.

John batted Carson's hand away. "I'm fine, I just...I wanted to make sure she's okay." He didn't look at Carson as he spoke, instead he plucked at his blankets.

"I need to take your temperature again," Carson said, as he grabbed the ear thermometer. He gripped John's head then stuck the device in his ear. At the beep he pulled it out and made a face.

"So what is it?" John asked, not liking Carson's expression. He had a feeling he was in for some bad news.

Carson popped off the plastic ear piece cover and chucked it in a nearby garbage can before replying. "It's up a bit. 102.1. I'll give you some ibuprofen in about ninety minutes and if that doesn't help I'll pump you full of antibiotics."

John nodded, wincing at the throb of pain in his temples. "Um...Doc...can I ask you something?" He needed to try and understand what was happening to him, but he wasn't sure how to explain it to Carson.

"You can ask me anything, Colonel." Carson settled back down on the stool. "What is it?"

"Have you ever come across anything in the Atlantis data base about the Ancients being psychic, or anything like that?" John winced at even having to ask, but he remembered how he had connected with Chaya and he wondered if maybe something had rubbed off on him in some way. Or maybe his time spent with Teer and the others. Maybe he shouldn't have tried meditating. Or maybe the stupid wraith DNA that had nearly changed him into a bug had something to do with it. Whatever it was, John wanted to know so this would make sense some how.

Confusion and surprise flitted across Carson's face. "Why would you be asking me such a question? You don't think you're psychic, do you?"

John laughed, hearing how nervous he sounded. "No...of course not. I was just wondering. I had this stupid dream."

"Some Ancients did have abilities," Carson allowed, looking relieved. "Some had healing powers and such, but I haven't had much time to do an in depth study."

"Oh." John felt disappointed and he was going to ask for a lap top so he could do some research when he got a flash of Dr. Fletcher's face in his head. It made him start and look around for the man to suddenly appear.

Carson saw John's reaction. "What's wrong?"

John pushed the covers off and slid out of bed. "I need to talk to Elizabeth." He had a feeling she was dreaming or something. She had to be reliving her experience for him to be seeing things again. At least he rather hoped that was what was happening.

"You need to get back in bed, Colonel," Carson countered, gripping John by the arm and trying to push him back down.

"No!" John felt a flare of panic, closely followed by desperation. He needed to see Elizabeth. He yanked free of Beckett's grip and pushed him roughly aside. He could apologize later. But he hadn't gone two steps when Beckett was pulling him back again. John shoved him off, anger crackling through him. "I have to talk to Elizabeth!" he shouted, then he instantly tried to calm himself. "Look...just let me talk to her and I'll come right back. I promise." But John could see that Carson didn't believe him. He was advancing on him and John had no choice but to retreat.

Right into Ronon's strong embrace. John felt the Satedan's arms close around him and he struggled against them. But even on a good day he was no match for the big guy, and today he was feeling like crap. Still, he didn't stop fighting against the hold on him, even though Ronon had just about lifted him off his feet. A moment later John found himself pinned down on the bed and Beckett was wielding a syringe.

"NO! Don't! Please!" John could well remember the needle Dr. Fletcher had stuck him with and this was too much like reliving that scenario for his taste. "I'm sorry, I'll stay put!" he promised.

"Just a pinch and you'll feel better," Carson said, ignoring John's protests.

Which made John fight that much harder. He pulled his legs up and kicked out, catching Beckett in the gut and sending him reeling back. But that only bought him a momentary reprieve and a male nurse popping up to pin his legs down.

Carson looked pissed when he loomed over John, his face tight with determination as he swabbed John's arm then he was plunging the needle home.

"Dammit!" John hissed. Then everything faded to black.

**OoO**

He woke up feeling sluggish and nauseous and suddenly Beckett was there with a straw pressed to his lips.

"Just a small sip, Colonel," he instructed.

John took the sip and the water felt heavenly. He wanted more and when Beckett pulled the cup away he went to reach for it, only to discover he was in restraints. "Doc..." John croaked, tugging on them.

Carson made a face, setting the water aside then moving to face John. "Sorry, Colonel, but it's for the best right now."

"Look...I'm sorry about freaking out earlier," John apologized. "I just...I need to talk to Elizabeth. It's very important."

"I'm here, John," Elizabeth called out.

He turned his to see a nurse pushing her over in a wheelchair. John felt relief wash over him to see that she looked much better. A bit grim and a little pale, but better. "Hey...you okay?"

She nodded as she reached him. "I am now. Thanks to you."

"Just doing my job," John replied, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Hey...do you think you can convince Carson to take these things off?" John tugged at the restraints.

"I think we should hold off on that until Carson is sure it's okay," Elizabeth replied, ever the diplomat. "You're fever spiked, John and you were borderline delirious for a bit."

That news surprised him. "Uh...how long have I been out?"

Elizabeth made a face. "About six hours."

"What?" He tugged on the restraints again, hating feeling confined like this. It reminded him of the way too many times he'd been held captive. Before and during his time in Atlantis.

"You need to rest and get better, John," Elizabeth said softly.

He made himself relax against the pillows, taking a few calming breaths before blurting out,"I've been in your hallucination." That startled Elizabeth, if the stunned look on her face was anything to go by.

She blinked at him, then looked around, as if searching for Carson. But the doctor had left upon her arrival, as had the nurse who'd brought her. "What are you talking about, John?"

"Does a Dr. Fletcher sound familiar?" he replied. And when her eyes went wide he knew it did. "And how about General O'Neill coming to visit you and telling you some story about collapsing during negotiations."

"Oh my god!" Elizabeth covered her face with both hands and trembled for a moment. After a time she lowered her hands and locked eyes with John. "How can you know that?"

He shook his head. "Beats the hell out of me. When I touched you while you were connected I got flashes of things. When I touched you after you were better...I ended up trapped in your freaky hallucination. I can't explain it. Did I...did I get infected?" John figured not since he wasn't in isolation, but he couldn't figure out what else might explain the unexplainable.

Elizabeth was shaking her head. "No. Carson scanned you twice and you're clean. In fact, he scanned you again after you flipped out on him, just to be sure."

"I didn't flip out!" John protested. "I just needed to see you." He tugged at the restraints again. "So these really aren't necessary."

"I suppose it would be okay," Elizabeth allowed. She maneuvered the chair a bit closer, still looking shell-shocked at what John had told her. But even as she reached out to undo the first strap, the nurse appeared.

Smiling at both Elizabeth and John, Nurse Ayers said brightly, "Time to get you back to bed, Dr. Weir." She moved behind the wheel chair and gripped the handles, smoothly pulling Elizabeth back and away from the bed.

Elizabeth stared at John, shaking her head at him.

He knew she was sorry about not being able to free him. He gave her a smile to let her know she was off the hook, watching as she was wheeled away. He would just have to convince Carson to free him. To that end he called for the Doc.

A moment later Carson bustled over. "Is everything all right, Colonel?" he asked, looking concerned.

"It would be if you'd take these damned things off," John shot back, tugging on the restraints. "I'm not going to flip out on you again, Doc. I promise. I was just...I needed to talk to Elizabeth, like I said."

"Which you've now done so it's time for you to get some rest," Carson interjected.

John took a calming breath then made an attempt to explain to Carson what was going on. "Look...I'm connected to Elizabeth's hallucination. Or nanite induced fantasy world. Whatever you want to call it. I was there." As he spoke, John tugged on the restraints. Being strapped down was starting to make him feel anxious.

Carson sighed and looked a bit put upon. "Colonel...you have a fever and it made you a bit delusional. You had a dream is all."

"No...that's not it!" John insisted, tugging harder. The straps bit into his skin but he didn't care. "Take these damn things off me now!" He realized he was freaking out a bit, but he was pissed that Beckett didn't believe him. In fact the Scotsman was looking at him like he'd suddenly grown two heads or something.

"Calm down, Colonel," Carson beseeched him. "You're going to hurt yourself!"

John tried to do as Carson asked, but he felt like he was ready to jump out of his skin. "Look...just let me out and I'll calm down. Okay? I just...I'm not delusional, Carson. I was in Elizabeth's hallucination. Ask her about Dr. Fletcher...she'll tell you. And General O'Neill was there." John didn't realize he was still tugging hard on the restraints until Carson gripped his arm to stop him. "Sorry...I'm sorry...I just need you to take these off. And to listen to me."

But Carson didn't seem to want to listen to him. Instead he moved over to a side table then turned back with a syringe in his hand. "I'm going to give you a little something to help you rest, Colonel," he stated.

"No...please don't do that," John begged. And damn if he didn't hate begging. "You have to listen to me, Carson."

"Just a pinch and you'll feel much better when you wake up." Carson gripped John's arm, preparing to stab the needle in.

John tried to pull away but he didn't have much give and he felt worn out to the bone. Even as he opened his mouth to beg again, he felt the sting of the needle and darkness swirled over him, dragging him down into oblivion.

**THE END...of part 3**


	4. Chapter 4

_It's doing it again. Please forgive the strange layout, but the only way I know to fix this is to retype the whole chapter. Just not happening._

**THE CONNECTION . . . Part 4**

When John had woken from whatever drug they'd given him, he'd rolled on  
to his side, looking around the room with unfocused eyes. The stark,  
empty, hospital room from earlier. He wasn't sure how long he rested  
like that, trying to shake off the final remnants of medication, but  
after time had seemed to pass too long, he tried to get himself up, get  
upright in hopes of coming out of the fuzzy, lethargic feeling.

He only managed to prop himself in the corner, resting his head heavily  
on his knees. God, he felt like crap.

If Carson hadn't drugged him, would he have stayed conscious, back on  
Atlantis? Or would he have slipped back into this hallucination the  
moment he'd managed to fall asleep?

None of that mattered. What did, was finding an answer to why he was  
here – why was this happening. All he'd done was touch Elizabeth, and  
it'd sent him into her thoughts, or was there something from her keeping  
him here?

The door knob rattled with the sounds of being unlocked. John lifted his  
head, and stared as Fletcher walked across his bare floor, his shoes  
producing small, echoing footsteps. It would've been better if Fletcher  
had been ugly, cruel, something, instead, the doctor had a kind look to  
him. His eyes were warm, and he seemed to genuinely want to help. Which  
was completely ridiculous, because none of this was real.

"I've spoken with several people at the Pentagon," he started, once he  
was so close to John's bed, that all it would've taken was for him to  
lunge forward, and John could have him taken down and out in a second or  
two. Oblivious, Fletcher continued, "They assure me there is no such  
thing as the Stargate program."

John's head straightened further. "I never told you about the Stargate."

"Yes, you did." Fletcher frowned clinically at him. "In my office,  
earlier, before you saw General O'Neill."

"I never went to your office."

Fletcher's forehead bunched in concern. "Doctor Weir --"

This was really starting to piss him off. "I'm not Elizabeth," he  
gritted. "I'm John Sheppard."

_And I'd really like to get the hell out of here!_

"Your Mother's here."

John's head whipped around. "My mother?"

Fletcher nodded. "Would you like to talk to her?"

"Sure," John agreed slowly. He slid out of bed, took the robe Fletcher  
offered and shrugged into it, fighting away the lingering dizziness that  
made his legs feel unsteady. He pushed his feet awkwardly into the  
slippers by the chair, and followed Fletcher out of his room.

At the end of a hall, a woman waited. Her chestnut hair had the  
beginnings of gray at the tips. His steps faltered, because he hadn't  
really expected it to be _her_. John had expected to see a stranger;  
Elizabeth's mother.

She smiled broadly, and opened her arms for him. "John!"

He stopped, stared uncertainly at Fletcher, then back at his mother. "Go  
on," Fletcher urged. "I'm sure you have a lot to talk about."

"I…" John stepped towards her, once, twice, then he was running,  
practically throwing himself in her embrace, and held her tight, burying  
his head against her shoulder. He felt like he was ten again. "I missed  
you," he mumbled thickly, smelling the familiar scent, feeling the  
familiar softness.

"My goodness, John!" She pulled away after a few crushing moments and  
tucked her arm around his, turning him towards the doors leading  
outside. "I know it's been almost a year, but you act like you haven't  
seen me in ages."

_This isn't real, this isn't real._

John put on his best sheepish face. "Sorry," he offered. "I guess…I  
just…really missed you."

"Elinor, don't keep him out too long," called Fletcher.

The door wasn't locked, and in moments he was walking in the sunshine,  
feeling the warmth spread across his head, to his shoulders. John stared  
upward, through the leafy trees as his mother led him through the grass  
to a bench, and guided him to sit.

"Mom…"

"John, don't worry about anything," she interrupted kindly, sitting  
beside him. "I'm going to take care of you, get you through this."

The fine lines around her eyes scrunched together as she smiled at him,  
the oval face almost as smooth as he last remembered. The few signs of  
aging were all there ever would be. He couldn't do this…for one wild  
moment, John had thought he could just ride through this part, enjoy the  
vivid hallucination, have that 'one more' moment that everyone wants…but  
this…the lump in his throat was making it hard to even talk.

"I'd like to believe you," he said. His hands were loose in his lap. He  
pursed his lips together and raised his face till he was staring into  
those same hazel eyes that he saw in the mirror every morning. "But  
you're dead."

Any other person, the expression after he made his flat statement,  
would've been comical. But not her, and not now. She made fish lips for  
a painful moment, before the smile reasserted itself, and she patted a  
hand on his knee kindly…motherly. "Now, John, I know you've suffered  
some kind of…psychological shock…but Doctor Fletcher assures me he'll be  
able to help you." The smile slipped into sincerity. "Let us help you,  
John."

John stood, sad, feeling regret, but it was just a stupid hallucination.  
A figment. This wasn't his mom, anymore then he was Elizabeth in this  
charade. "I wish you could," he said. Then, he turned and ran for the  
road, having the freedom he'd tried unsuccessfully to get earlier.

OoO

His eyes snapped open and he stared confused at the familiar bed and  
empty hospital room. John stayed lost in a moment of cognitive  
dissonance. He'd ran down the street, a car had screeched to a halt just  
in time to avoid hitting him, and when the guy had jumped out, asking if  
John was all right, he'd answered yes, then tried to steal the car…then,  
he was here.

Just now. From the street back to his room, in the blink of an eye,  
literally.

Damn it. He should've known better…this wasn't reality, there wasn't  
going to be any easy escapes. He checked the door, locked. He paced  
laps, and got a drink of water from the fountain. He stared out the  
window as the sun set.

When the lock jiggled, and a nurse entered with a tray filled with  
dinner and pills, John sighed. He looked beyond her, no guards, but he'd  
already learned escape from this wasn't going to happen, so what was he  
supposed to do? Just sit back and enjoy the mental experience in  
Technicolor?

"Get me out of here, Carson," John swore under his breath.

The nurse finished settling the tray on a table by his bed. Funny. He  
couldn't remember seeing that before? Then she held out the small white  
paper cup with three pills. "Take your medication, John, then eat your  
supper."

It wasn't until the door had shut behind her that he lifted his head and  
stared where she'd been in shock.

She'd called him John.

OoO

Being stuck in an institution sucked. Being stuck in a hallucination of  
being stuck in an institution sucked. Okay, screw it, all of this  
just…sucked. He'd eaten, flushed the pills, and then after he'd worn  
himself out pacing, decided to lay down. He had nothing to do, and no  
one to talk to.

The nurse collected his tray, and then sometime later, came by and did a  
'light's out' routine, and when he'd asked for a book or something,  
she'd merely smiled politely and said, "You'll have to ask Doctor  
Fletcher in the morning."

Fletcher. It kept coming back to him. John pushed a hand against the  
ache in his forehead and thought about how Fletcher was the important  
part of this hallucination world he was stuck in.

Maybe if he killed Fletcher, he'd be released from this? It wasn't like  
the man was real.

John had killed real people before…killing a hallucinatory man wasn't  
going to make him even think twice.

Somewhere in his musings, he began to doze, and it was with a jerk that  
he came back awake. There had been a sound…propping himself up on an  
elbow, John looked around his darkened room. The only light was coming  
in from the window, and it illuminated a white medical screen across his  
room.

What the hell? That hadn't been there earlier?

Uneasily, John got up, and watched in fascination as a yellow glow began  
to spread behind it, highlighting a dark shadow of a figure…a human…but  
it was indistinct. A woman, man?

Curiosity drove him forward, out of bed, and across the room. He  
approached it carefully, keeping his eyes fixed on the shadow. As he  
grew nearer, icy coldness clutched his insides, and John unaccountably  
pulled back. He was so close now that he could touch the screen, but he  
suddenly felt like something dangerous was there. Something bad.

He'd get hurt if he touched it. John didn't know how he knew that, he  
just did. It didn't make any sense at all, and that made him reach for  
it out of sheer stubbornness. Something was manipulating him; none of  
this was real. It couldn't hurt him…could it?

The shadow grew larger behind the sheet, as if it were walking towards  
John, then the outline of the body pressed against the white cotton  
material, and it stretched…fitting around the face, the head and  
shoulders. John lurched involuntarily backwards, the grisly image  
reminding him of that horror movie he'd watched as a kid, where people  
were trapped inside the walls of a house, and tried to get out…

The fear that he'd been fighting off, the fear that he'd told himself  
wasn't real, wasn't his, it surged freshly through his system, setting  
off alarms in his adrenals, and hippocampus. No matter how many times he  
repeated, "It's not real," his bodies physical response screamed, "It is!"

He spun around, jogged for the door, started banging, only for it to  
open up, spilling him into the arms of Doctor Fletcher. John tried to  
straighten, to pull back, but Fletcher held on. When he did look over,  
to try and explain, there was nothing there. No screen, no shadowy  
figure…nothing.

Fear morphed into anger and John yanked free of Fletcher's grip, stepped  
back and stared at the doctor. "What the hell's going on!" demanded  
John. What kind of mind games had these nanites played on Elizabeth?

"Calm down, John, you're fine." Fletcher stepped closer, hands up in a  
placating manner. "We're right here; nothing's going to hurt you."

His headache spiked, and John stumbled back, trying to keep distance  
between him and Fletcher. Pressing the palm of his hand against his  
forehead, John gritted through clenched teeth, "I'm not fine! I'm stuck  
in a goddamn hallucination and now I'm hallucinating _in_ the  
hallucination!"

"Did you take your medication?" Fletcher asked, watching him reprovingly.

John seethed.

"John, you won't get better if you don't cooperate."

Fletcher's tone was mild and scolding. John pulled his hand away and  
realized two more nurses had entered his room, and they were moving  
towards him. He backed up even more, until he hit the wall. "I don't  
need medication," he said, trying to erase any trace of defiance or  
anger, or anything that'd make them think he needed to be sedated, but  
as they kept moving at him, John knew it was too late.

Even though he couldn't escape, John didn't have to sit here and take  
being drugged without even trying to fight it. He relaxed, and pretended  
he wasn't going to put up a fight, until the nurses were within grabbing  
distance, and then he threw himself forward, knocking into the women. It  
was a hallucination, so what if he knocked them around?

He bolted past them, only to be physically pulled up from behind,  
manhandled to the bed, and his arm pulled out, held firmly in a  
bone-crushing grip. Startled, John stared up into the faces of the two  
women, appearing completely unaffected by the hits he'd delivered.  
Fletcher loomed next to him, and held the hypodermic up, flushing out  
any pockets of air, before plunging it downward at John's arm. As the  
needle pierced his skin, John could only get one final thought out. This  
hallucination was not being fair, at all.

The end…of part four


	5. Chapter 5

**THE CONNECTION...part 5**

He heard voices. Naggingly familiar voices that echoed in his head and eventually drove him towards full consciousness. It was as he was peeling his heavy eyelids open that he placed them. Rodney and Teyla. Finally getting his eyes to stay open, John blinked hard a few times and brought them into a kinda hazy focus. Then he tried to get their attention. "Hey!" he called out, but it sounded like a sick frog croaking to his ears.

But Teyla heard him and approached him with a warm smile on her face. "How are you feeling, John?"

"Been better," he whispered, tugging on the restraints. He rather wished they were a hallucination that he could make disappear. Along with the IV line taped to the back of his left hand and the catheter he just realized he had. God he hated those things.

"Would you like some water?" Even as she asked, Teyla was reaching for the cup and letting the straw touch his lips.

John took a few sips, almost sighing as the cool water slid down his throat and eased the dry ache there. "Thanks."

Teyla nodded and set the glass aside. "You look better than you did," she stated.

"Yeah?" John wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. "What happened?" Last thing he remembered here in Atlantis was pretty much begging Carson to believe him about his hallucinations and to talk to Elizabeth and then nothing but darkness. He was really getting tired of being sedated. The after effects sucked big time, and the shit made him feel nauseous and lethargic.

"You spiked a fever and were extremely delusional," Rodney interjected, moving to the other side of the bed.

John turned his head to face him. "Oh." He hadn't expected to hear that, although maybe it was kind of a good thing. Maybe Beckett wouldn't hold his little freak out against him if he believed it to be illness induced. "How long was I out of it?"

Rodney arched an eyebrow then glanced at his watch. "Approximately thirty-seven hours and fifteen minutes."

"Shit!" John didn't mean to curse, but he hadn't expected it to be so long. He had a lot more things he wanted to ask Rodney about, but Carson magically appeared at the foot of the bed.

"How are you feeling, Colonel?" the Scotsman queried, his smile a bit too cheery to be genuine. As he asked he grabbed an ear thermometer and prepared it.

John held off on replying until he heard the beep, then he asked, "So?"

Carson was nodding. "A bit over one hundred, but doing nicely all things considered. "You gave us a bit of a fright, Colonel. Apparently you picked up some kind of bug or something, but the antibiotics I'm giving you appear to be working."

"Glad to hear that," John said quietly, and he wondered if maybe between the sedatives and the antibiotics they were adding to the changes in the hallucinations. Or maybe creating the connection. Pain throbbed in his temples at his muddled thoughts and he wished his hands were free so he could rub them. Which reminded him. Tugging on the restraints, John asked, "Can you take these off now?"

"Colonel..." Carson began.

But Rodney interrupted him, sounding exasperate. "Oh please! Take them off already! What's he going to do? His fever is down so he's no longer delusional and even if he was...he's too weak to do anything but crawl. Even you could catch him if he tried to escape."

Carson looked like he was going to snap at Rodney, but instead he shook himself and locked eyes with John. "I guess we can take them off for now," he replied, reaching for the arm nearest to him.

"Thanks," John replied, and it was heartfelt as he watched Carson do one arm and Teyla the other. The moment he was free he rubbed his wrists then looked at Rodney. "I owe you one."

"Yes, you do," Rodney shot back, looking pleased with himself. Pleased but a bit grim.

John wondered if anything was wrong that he should know about, but before he could ask, Carson was shooing Rodney and Teyla out. "They just got here!" John protested.

Teyla played peace keeper, as always. "We will come back later, John," she said firmly. "After you have rested." She touched her forehead to his, then she herded Rodney out of the room, oblivious to his protests.

"You need to rest as Teyla said," Carson stated, as he checked John's IV.

"I need you to remove the catheter and let me take a shower," John countered. He felt sweaty and achy and dirty and he wanted to feel clean again.

Carson made a face. "You're going to be weak," he argued.

John was ready for a fight. "I'll go in a wheel chair and you can help me shower if it makes you happy." The last thing he wanted was an audience, but it wouldn't be the first time. Privacy was a luxury in the military.

"I suppose a shower might help get your temp down a bit more, and ease any aches you have," Carson allowed. He sighed and pulled a pair of latex gloves out of his lab coat pocket. A minute later the catheter was gone, five minutes later John was IV free and in a wheel chair.

The moment they reached the bathroom he was up and heading for the toilet. "I'm good," he said firmly. "But I could use some scrubs."

Carson gave in and nodded. "All right. But you've got five minutes then I'm coming in to check on you." He pinned John with a glare for a moment, then he headed off, the door whooshing closed behind him.

"Freedom," John whispered, as he relieved himself then tugged off the gown. Ten seconds later he was in the shower and lathering his hair. He was military so he could wash up in two minutes. Which meant that even though the luke-warm water felt like heaven, he was out and drying off when Carson returned with a set of scrubs. Because he felt measurably better, John was willing to let Carson help him get dressed, then they made the trek back to his bed where he could tell it had been made up with fresh sheets. Truth be told, it felt good to lie down again.

"Are you hungry?" Carson asked, once he had John settled to his satisfaction.

Taking a moment to think about it, John ended up shaking his head. His stomach felt too twisted up to even consider food as an option. "Maybe later."

Carson didn't look happy about that. "I'll make you a deal. You have a bit of soup and I won't hook you up to an IV again."

"Ever?" John prompted, knowing that's not what Carson meant. He got a glare for that, but nodded. "Okay. I'll try some soup."

"Good." Carson grinned and reached for a mug that was sitting on the bedstand. He held it out. "Chicken broth, very light for your stomach."

John sighed and took a sip. It tasted bland and unappetizing, but a deal was a deal. He took another sip and asked, "How is Elizabeth doing?"

Carson perked up at the question. "She's doing very well. She's back to work already."

"Shouldn't she be resting?" John remembered how pale she had looked the last time he saw her. Of course, that had been over a day and a half ago.

"She's fine and I warned her not to over do it." Carson smirked at John. "Unlike some people, she listens to me," he taunted.

John grimaced then changed the subject. "Could you ask Rodney to come see me?"

Carson shook his head. "Maybe later, Colonel. Right now you need to finish up your soup then rest."

"Just for a few minutes?" John pleaded, and man was he ever whining. He hated whining, but if it got results he would live with it.

"I suppose," Carson conceded, looking defeated.

John felt a flicker of guilt at that, but quickly snuffed it. He could apologize for his behavior and such later. When everything was back to normal. Or what passed for normal in the Pegasus Galaxy. "Thanks," he said, meaning it. To make himself feel less guilty, he drank some more soup and that seemed to perk Carson up a bit. He was smiling as he radioed Rodney, asking him to come to the infirmary ASAP.

Rodney sounded ticked off as he agreed to come. In about fifteen minutes, as he was in the middle of something.

"Best I can do," Carson said to John.

"I appreciate it, and I promise to behave myself," John replied. To that end he made himself gulp down the last bit of soup, even though it felt sloshy in his stomach.

Carson accepted the empty mug, looking pleased. "Rest till Rodney arrives, and you only get ten minutes with him." With that Carson bustled off.

John settled himself against the pillows and let his thoughts drift to Dr. Fletcher. He was pretty sure the man was the key to what was happening, he just couldn't figure out how or why. But he thought maybe Elizabeth might have the answer to that. He would have to talk to her about it after seeing Rodney.

Who, with perfect timing, made his entrance at this moment. "What do you want?" he demanded. "I'm very. very busy."

"Of course you are," John replied, with maybe a touch of patronism. But he followed it up by saying, "I promise not to keep you. I just need to ask you something."

"Fine, what?" Rodney prompted, arms folding over his chest as he rocked impatiently back on his heels. "Since I know everything about everything, I'm sure I can give you an answer."

John nodded. "I'm counting on it," he confessed. "Listen...have you ever come across anything in the Atlantis data base about the Ancients having psychic abilities?"

Rodney made a scrunchy face. "Why would you ask that?"

"Because..." John began, but paused to consider just how much trust he could put in McKay. It only took a moment to reach a conclusion. So he spent the next five minutes explaining to Rodney what had happened. How he had entered Elizabeth's dreams and about Dr. Fletcher and everything he could think of that might be the reason for their connection. "So do you think you can help me out here?" John finished.

"You saw your mother?" Rodney asked, looking a bit unnerved.

John sighed. "Yes, and like I said...she's been dead for years."

Rodney echoed his sigh. "You do know that you were delusional with your fever, right?"

"Which translate into, you don't believe a word I just told you," John drawled, trying to hide his frustration. Rodney was getting close to be his last hope in figuring out what the hell was going on here.

"It's pretty farfetched," Rodney countered.

John knew that, but he had one last ace in the hole. "Elizabeth knows who Dr. Fletcher is. He was in her hallucination. She can confirm everything I've told you, Rodney. She didn't tell me anything about it before I lived it. And it happened before my fever spiked." For some reason John was pretty sure he got the fever because of what was happening to him, and that it was not the cause of the hallucinations.

Rodney scrubbed a hand over his face, looking pensive. "I suppose I could search a few archives and such," he allowed.

"Thank you," John told him. "Something is triggering the hallucinations and I need to figure out what. So keep that in mind while you're searching."

"Fine." Rodney was beginning to look a little bit intrigued. "I'll be back later," he promised, waving a hand in John's direction before suddenly hurrying out.

Right on cue, Carson came over, determination glinting in his blue eyes. "Time for you to rest now, Colonel."

John grimaced. "I'm not all that tired yet," he argued. "But I promise to take a nap if you'll let me talk to Elizabeth."

"I'll ask her to come see you after you wake up," Carson countered. And the look on his face left no doubt to the fact but that he was going to get his way.

"Fair enough," John allowed, because he knew if he pushed too hard, Carson would simply knock him out again. He wasn't ready to go back to that other place just yet. But he made a show of curling up on his side and closing his eyes. Too good a show really, since he actually did drift off to sleep. Only to wake up with a jolt when he dreamed about Dr. Fletcher turning into a Wraith that sucked the life out of him.

One of the nurses noticed his reaction and bustled over. "Are you all right, Colonel?" she asked.

John rubbed a hand over his face, trying to rub the images away, and nodded. "Um...how long was I asleep?" He was surprised to learn he'd only been out for an hour. He didn't want to sleep again, even though he was feeling worn out. So he asked for something to eat. His stomach felt pitted and he thought maybe it would help him feel better. He knew he needed to fuel his body anyway, plus the eating would give him a distraction.

Five minutes later he had two slices of toast in front of him. John managed to get one down and about that time Carson showed up.

"Good to see you eating, Colonel," he said, approvingly. "Now you need to hunker down and get some sleep."

"I slept a day and a half away," John complained.

Carson gave him the look that said he was tempted to give John a proper lashing. But all he said was, "Rest or you'll regret it."

John could imagine Carson could be creative in his punishments if he so desired, so he closed his eyes like a good little patient. But the moment he was sure Carson was gone, he opened them again. The thing is, after an hour of pretending to sleep he got bored enough to doze off again. Only to have the same dream about Fletcher turning into a Wraith.

"Are you in any pain, Colonel?" Carson asked, as he noticed John was awake and moved to his side.

"No, I'm good," John replied, not wanting to confess to the headache that was annoying him. Maybe the pain would be enough to keep him awake from this point on. "Listen, can you ask Elizabeth to come see me now?"

Carson didn't look happy about it, but he was a man of his word so he tapped his radio. But Elizabeth told him she was in the middle of something and that she would be down to see John after supper.

Not what John wanted to hear right now, so he held one hand out and gestured for Carson to give him the radio. Amazingly, he turned it over. John spoke into it. "Elizabeth, it's me. I really need to talk to you. It won't take long."

There was a long moment of silence before Elizabeth replied. "I have a lot of catching up to do, John. But I promise to be there after supper." With that Elizabeth signed off.

"Radio," Carson demanded.

"Can I go to my room?" John asked. Because it didn't cost him anything to do so. Not surprisingly, Carson refused his request and he was left with orders to get some sleep.

John faked it until Ronon and Teyla showed up for a visit. He was glad to see them and he apologized to Ronon for his earlier freak out.

Ronon just shrugged. "Shit happens."

"Who taught you that one?" John asked, after laughing so hard he nearly choked.

"Zelenka."

John nodded. "Should have guessed." He chatted with his team mates until Carson shooed them out after an hour. John took a bathroom break, drank more soup for supper, then ticked off the minutes till Elizabeth's arrival. Only dinner came and went and they were heading towards sleep time when John realized Elizabeth was avoiding him. Which stirred up all kinds of questions. The most important one being, what was she afraid of. Because John was sure that was what was keeping her away from him.

Which also meant he would have to go to her, but he'd have to be stealthy about it. So John was good as gold for the rest of the night, assuring Carson he was tired and wanted nothing more than to sleep. Finally the lights were turned low, the night shift came on and John was able to slip out of bed.

He knew exactly where to go to find Elizabeth. The balcony off the east section. Sure enough, she was standing at the railing when he stepped through the doors. "Hey," he called out softly.

She turned to face him and looked stunned. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," John replied, as he moved to join her. "Why are you avoiding me?"

"I'm not." It was so blatant a lie that she cringed. "I...I'm sorry. I'm just...I'm all messed up about what happened."

John nodded. He understood exactly what she meant. "I went back to your hallucination," he told her, and her head snapped up as she gazed at him in shock. "But it's changing. They're seeing me as _me_ now. I just don't get how...or why."

Elizabeth exhaled a shaky breath, then turned to grip the railing so tightly that her knuckles turned white. "None of this makes any sense," she whispered.

"Tell me about it." John looked out over the water and wished he had an easy answer for them both. "I know you're freaked out about this. So am I. But I told Rodney about it and if anyone can figure out what's going on...he can."

"I hope you're right," Elizabeth whispered, then she turned and took a good look at him. "You need to go back to the infirmary, John. When Carson finds out you're gone he's going to hit the roof."

John grimaced, knowing she was telling the truth. "Yeah...my ass is going to be grass," he allowed. "But I had to talk to you. Listen, did you dream about Dr. Fletcher last night? Or anything that happened to you in your hallucination?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "No. Carson gave me sleeping pills to take and I was out like a light. I don't remember dreaming at all."

"Dammit!" Cursing beneath his breath, John began to pace. Until his knees suddenly buckled and he had to put a hand out to the wall to catch himself.

"I'm calling Carson," Elizabeth stated, reaching for her radio.

John got his balance enough to lunge across the distance and grab her wrist. "No! I'm fine. Really. I'll go back in a minute."

But his minute appeared to be up because at just that moment the doors opened and Beckett appeared. He was pushing a wheel chair and Ronon was right behind him. John knew he was in trouble when he met Carson's furious gaze.

"I didn't call you," Elizabeth was saying, looking confused.

"You didn't have to," Carson replied. "I was alerted that Colonel Sheppard was missing from the infirmary and I knew right where to look for him. I radioed for Ronon to meet me in case there were...difficulties." His eyes never left John as he spoke.

John knew he should just give in gracefully, sit down in the wheel chair and apologize profusely all the way back to the infirmary. But he was tired of being a pawn in a game where he didn't understand any of the rules. Not being in control of this was fucking him up in its own way. He was so damn tempted to just refuse to go back, but he knew he'd never make it out the door and that Carson would just chain him to the damn bed if he fussed too much. But dammit he was going to get at least a smidgeon of control back. "Look...I'm sorry I took off, but I'm okay," he said firmly. "And I can walk back." It was a little thing, but he would feel less like some damn invalid if he could walk instead of riding through the hallways in the stupid wheelchair.

But Beckett was shaking his head. "You'll sit your scrawny ass in the chair and like it!' he snapped. And it was obvious by his words and by the thickness of his accent, that Carson was pissed to the max.

It sent off warning bells in John's head, but he ignored them. Pushing past Carson, he headed for the door. Only to find Ronon blocking his way. John was not a stupid man by any means, but sometimes impulse just took control and drove sanity out the window. In the blink of an eye John drew back his right arm then he slugged Ronon in the face for all he was worth. Even as his fist connected, he realized his mistake and was backing away from the big guy while trying to shake the sting out of his knuckles.

"I'm sorry," John whispered, but it was too late. Ronon was barely rocked by the blow and so he made short work of grabbing John and pinning him. John didn't even get the chance to put up a token struggle when he felt the pinprick in his shoulder and the lights went out.

**THE END...of part 5**


	6. Chapter 6

**THE CONNECTION. . . Part 6**

Locked up, caged, penned, restrained, incarcerated, imprisoned…how many  
entries were there in the thesaurus for his really sucky situation? John  
was sitting in the corner of his bed, his back pressed against the wall,  
his knees drawn up so he could rest his hands loosely over them.

He shouldn't have been surprised to wake up here, after being drugged  
_there._

What the hell was going on? Why was he being thrown back into this  
hallucination, or delusion, or whatever it was? Did Carson even realize  
he was stuck in this unreality whenever he knocked John out? Was there  
some monitor on him right now reporting back how much trouble he was  
really in, 'cause John was getting really sick of waking up here. If  
Carson didn't know what was going on then he wouldn't be working to get  
him out of this mess.

He'd been awake for, what, two hours? Three maybe. No one had come, the  
door had stayed shut, locked. John stared at it, as if willing some  
nurse to show up with a meal, just so he could take her down and try to  
make an escape. He might not get far, but this was beginning to grate on  
his nerves.

As if someone read his mind (hey, it was a delusion, right?) the door  
knob rattled, and a nurse along with a burly guard stepped in. John eyed  
the Taser in the guard's hand. Figures. Make his escape attempts hurt  
like hell – some kind of shock therapy. Be a good mental patient or  
we'll shock you into staying put.

"Dinner, John," the nurse said cheerfully. She set the tray on the  
nightstand by his bed. "I bet you're hungry."

"And I bet you're not real."

She's blonde, short, young and kind of cute. Her nose turns up at the  
tip and her ears are nice and round, not like John's elf ears. He'd put  
a bullet between her eyes if he had a gun.

Her name tag reads Lisa. She puts her hands on her hips and smiles like  
he's a naughty school kid that just put a KICK ME! sign on the teacher's  
back. "Now, John, you need to keep those thoughts to yourself if you're  
going to convince Dr. Fletcher that you're getting better."

He slid off the bed and stood in front of her so fast she stepped back,  
alarmed. "Which one are you?" asked John, staring in her eyes. "Are you  
parts of Niam? Or just new parts, made from old – did you infect my  
brain when I touched Elizabeth?" John gripped her arm and yanked Lisa  
closer, "Just tell me…what are you trying to accomplish?"

His answer was a Taser to the shoulder. His knees crumpled. There was a  
smart-ass comeback just waiting to be said, but all he could manage was  
a grunt as the pain danced along his nerve endings.

Lisa didn't say anything else, just took her goon and left him lying on  
the floor.

When full motion finally came back, John rolled over and stared at the  
ceiling, truly appreciating how screwed he was for the first time.

OoO

Fletcher's office was cold. "You need to pay your heating bill," cracked  
John.

The man gazed at him enigmatically. "You could wear your robe, John."

He chuckled humorlessly. Over his dead body. It was bad enough he was  
forced to wear these white scrubs every time he woke up in this  
hallucination. He'd be damned if he'd go around wearing one more thing  
that made him into a patient. That gave any relevance to _this_ reality.  
"I don't think so."

The doctor merely shrugged and said, "It's your choice, Colonel." He  
stood, and came nearer, sitting on the corner of his broad wooden desk.  
"In fact, all of this is your choice. You don't want to be here, so make  
the choice to do what you have to do to get better. I'd like nothing more  
than to sign your discharge papers."

Well, this was a change. John shot Fletcher a distrustful look. The doc  
was as casually dressed as always, which meant, he was wearing a suit,  
tie, and no white coat. The man liked to exude harmless vibes. The scary  
thing was, it kind of worked. "So, what do I do?" John figured he'd  
bite. If all this was happening because he'd been infected, if these  
nanites were in his brain, then maybe he could find a way to communicate  
with them, find out what they wanted, and maybe in doing so, find a  
weakness he could use to get out of this back and forth switching from  
reality to not-reality. 'Cause this wasn't real.

"Do you mean that?" Fletcher looked rightfully skeptical. John had  
reacted less than cooperatively since the beginning. Not that the  
nanites had any reason to blame him. Fletcher pulled an ink pen from his  
desk and started fiddling with the button on the top, staring at John.  
"Because if you don't, we might as well not waste our time here. I can  
order more drugs, you can stay locked up in the room – I'm sure you'll  
enjoy the next month living like that."

John made a wan smile. Funny.

Fletcher took it for an affirmative. He stood and returned to his seat,  
pulling a sheet from the top drawer and spinning it till John could see  
what it was. Elizabeth? A glossy 8x10 of Elizabeth.

"Do you recognize this person?" Fletcher was peering at him, his head  
tilted downward so he was actually looking up towards John.

His mouth felt dry. What kind of game were they playing now? "You know  
who that is – when I first woke up here you guys all thought I was her."

"A simple yes or no, John, don't make this harder than it has to be."

John had a bad feeling about this, and he climbed out of his chair,  
warily. "Look, I don't know what game your playing, but it's not gonna  
work. I kicked you out of Elizabeth before, I'll kick you out of my head  
eventually. Why don't you just go gracefully,' he backed towards the  
door leading out of Fletcher's office, "and then I won't have to…disband  
you." Lame, John, _disband_? Well, where the hell had they gone when  
he'd convinced Elizabeth it wasn't real, and she had to fight them, and  
suddenly she was waking up. They'd gone somewhere.

As his heels butted against the threshold, it occurred to John that  
apparently some of the buggers had gone into _him_. Otherwise, he  
wouldn't really be here, would he? Shit.

Fletcher didn't even seem to blink, but the door opened, and Taser goon  
was there. John turned and stared at the weapon – note, the painful  
weapon – then up towards the goons face. He looked like one of those  
bouncers in a night club. Big, mean, not really the kind to feel remorse  
for turning John into a pile of twitching nerves on the floor.

"I don't suppose there's a third option here?"

A guy had to try.

OoO

Two more hours, three, and four. He paced the length of his room,  
twisted his arm to look at his watch, only to mutter another curse when  
he remembered he didn't have a watch. No watch, no clothes, just these  
damn white scrubs, in a room with a bed and a nightstand and a window  
without a view.

He should've said yes.

But he was pretty sure no had been the right answer.

Getting pissed, John stormed to the door and pounded on both sides of  
the small window. "Let me out of here!"

He doubted anyone was going to show, but he tried again just for good  
measure. After pounding enough that the edges of his palms burned, John  
turned himself around, throwing his back against the door in  
frustration. _Think, John_. There's always a backdoor in programming,  
right? So he just had to find the backdoor in this hallucination.

Problem was, the backdoor might be in that lounge room, Fletcher's  
office…hell, could be outside.

Exhaling out some of his frustration, John tried to accept that for the  
mean time, he was stuck. He walked to the window and stared around  
trying to see what he could. It was dark and the streetlights were only  
a dim orange, except the one in the middle. It was burned out, and left  
a large hole of darkness. Nothing out there that was going to help him  
right now, and the bars over the window blocked that escape for the time  
being anyway.

He turned back and dropped on the bed. John figured it was late here –  
what was it Atlantis time? Was it dinner? Were the others eating right  
now, talking about when Sheppard was going to wake up next?

Or, God, what if some crisis had happened? What if the Asurans had tried  
to come after the city again, and he was lying in the infirmary,  
incapable of helping defend Atlantis?

He needed out of this damn room!

Vertigo suddenly assailed him, and John found himself leaning over his  
bed, retching. The room was sliding to the left until it reached the end  
and then it'd reset and start sliding all over again. What the hell…he  
groaned, and tried to lay down, but things just kept moving. Just being  
locked up in here seemed preferable…anything over this. It'd come on so  
fast…like someone up above had flipped a switch inside his brain.

It was when he was fighting to not give into the urge to gag, that he  
heard it. At first, it was soft, one whispered voice, then another,  
until soon it was a chorus, whispering together, so loudly it almost  
felt like they were shouting inside his skull. "Knock it off," John  
yelled at the ceiling. He had to get out of here, he had to get out of –

The door knob twisted.

He rolled, and wound up falling off the bed. The room was spinning so  
badly, he listed sideways. Nothing like this had happened before and all  
he wanted was for it to end. His stomach was turning inside out, and he  
felt like he was being spun on a tea cup ride at Disney.

"Help!" he shouted.

The door opened, the lights in the hallway silhouetting the feminine  
body. John thought it was Lisa again, and for the first time, he was  
willing to do whatever she wanted, eat dinner, take his pills, anything,  
just so long as she fixed this. Maybe the nanites were winning, eating  
away at his brain. He tried to crawl towards her but he wound up falling  
on his side, his mind not able to tell what was up or down.

The figure stepped towards him, and John tried to ask again, "Help me."

When she leaned over him, John realized he couldn't have been more  
wrong. It wasn't Lisa at all. It was Elizabeth…She smiled warmly, which  
is why John never even saw it coming when she kicked him in the side of  
his head so hard everything went black.

The end… of part 6


	7. Chapter 7

**THE CONNECTION...part 7**

He had been drifting in a warm, peaceful, pain-free sea of darkness and he wanted to stay there, but the throbbing in his temples wouldn't leave him be. Slowly, John peeled his eyes open then clenched them closed when even the soft light that greeted him made the pain in his head spike.

"Easy, Colonel," said Carson's lilting brogue. "I've lowered the lights a bit so try opening your eyes again."

"Sure," John said, although it came out like a croak. He opened his eyes and was relieved to see mostly shadows. Then Carson's face appeared and John was relieved to realize he was back in the Atlantis infirmary. But he wasn't so happy to realize he was back in restraints. He tugged on them, just a little, not having the energy to do more. "What happened?" He coughed after asking and there was a long moment of him gagging, Carson rubbing his back, John swallowing hard against the bile in his throat and choking down a few sips of water. Then he was leaning back against the pillows and willing the pain in his head to vanish.

Carson patted his shoulder. "Let me get you something for the pain, just to take the edge off, then we'll talk."

John closed his eyes again as he waited, then he heard Carson return and some shuffling sounds, then a cool spike flowing through his veins and the pain began to ease. He opened his eyes again and stared down at the IV taped to the back of his left hand. He wondered how long he'd been out for this time and only realized he'd said that out loud when Carson answered him.

"Twenty-two hours, Colonel." The Scotsman heaved a sigh and pulled a chair over to sit down. He looked exhausted. "You had me worried for a while there."

"Oh?" John was curious as to why. Maybe he did something that would give him some clue as to what the hell was going on here. Besides which, he found it hard to believe he'd been out of it for so long. Again. It was getting ridiculous how much time he was starting to lose. Not to mention the fact he was not happy to realize he had a catheter stuck in him.

Carson scrubbed a hand over his face before responding. "You spiked a high temp and went into convulsions at one point."

That did not sound good, and John wondered if that's why he felt so achy. "But..I'm okay now. Right?"

"Your temp finally went down," Carson conceded. "Early this morning. You're hovering at around a 99.9, so that's a good sign."

"Did I hurt someone?" John asked, tugging at the restraints again.

Carson winced at that. "You were delusion and you tried to leave the infirmary, in spite of being hooked up to a few things. I'd be willing to release you, Colonel, but only if you promise to behave yourself. You've been a right bit of a bother of late."

John knew that, and he wished he could explain why, but he had a feeling now was not the time to try and explain that he was trapped in Elizabeth's hallucination. At least not until he found out if Rodney had learned anything about the Ancient's being psychic or something along those lines. "I'll be good," he promised. "To be honest, I don't have the energy to do much more than breathe right now."

"I believe that," Carson said, rising to his feet. He undid the restraints then fussed with John's blankets. "I bet you're hungry."

"Yeah...I guess. Maybe a little." John smiled as he lied. The last thing he as interested in was food. But he'd do whatever Carson wanted for the moment. "Um...I need to pee. Could you remove, ya know..." John waved a hand over his groin area.

Carson nodded. "I'll remove it, but maybe it would be best if you used a urinal. You're going to be weak, laddie."

But John was adamant. "Bathroom," he insisted. "I'll even let you push me in a wheelchair." He needed out of the bed so he could build his strength back up. He had to be in fighting form for his next trip into Elizabeth World.

"I guess we can try the wheelchair," Carson conceded. He left to get what he needed to remove the catheter and was back a moment later, pulling on rubber gloves.

"Shit!" John hissed, as the tubing was removed. He hated those damn things. The moment it was gone he shoved the covers back and allowed Carson to help him into a robe. Then he was on his feet and wobbling by the bed while the Doc fetched a wheelchair. John was glad to sit down. resting a moment while Carson unhooked him from the IV line. But by the time they reached the bathroom he was ready for a shower and scrubs. It took five minutes of out right begging to get Carson to agree to it.

It was worth the battle though. After relieving his bladder, John stripped off the gown and stepped into the shower and doused himself in the hot spray. He scrubbed up as fast as he could and he didn't even complain when Carson barged in to help him get dried off and dressed in the scrubs. He did grumble about the reddish pink color, but realized beggars couldn't be choosers. Then he was back in the wheelchair for his trip back to bed.

Carson tucked John in, fussing a bit. He rehooked him to the IV then studied him. "Ready for some soup?" It wasn't really a question.

"Sure," John replied, plastering a smile on his face. He plucked at his blankets while Carson sent a nurse for the soup, running scenarios about what had happened in Hallucination land through his head. His mind felt muddled though and John knew his best bet to figuring things out was to talk to Rodney. But when he asked Carson for a radio, the Scotsman refused. He also refused to even think about calling Rodney for him until John ate.

So when the soup arrived, John made an attempt to drink it, but he ended up gagging on it and Carson let him off the hook after a few sips. "Will you call Rodney now?" John asked, fighting to keep his eyes open. He wondered, absently, if Carson had spiked his IV when he wasn't looking.

Carson looked disappointed and worried as he shook his head at John. "You need to rest now," he said firmly. "Take a nap and afterwards I'll consider letting you visit with Rodney. It'll depend on how you're doing at the time," he warned.

"Okay." John gave in without a fight because he was determined to get on Carson's good side. He knew he had a lot of crap to make up for so he curled up on his side and closed his eyes. He didn't even feel himself slide into slumber.

A feeling of being watched jolted John awake. He shifted so he was half sitting up even as he opened his eyes. Being still half asleep, he had to blink hard to bring the person hovering beside him into focus. It was Elizabeth. Despite the fact that she was smiling warmly at him, John felt a sudden spike of fear and it made him shudder.

Elizabeth's smile faded into concern. "John, are you okay?"

"Fine," he lied. His fear was irrational, at least that's what he told himself. But he still couldn't seem to shake it. Then it hit him why he was feeling this way. His last memory of Elizabeth was of her kicking him in the head. Sure it had just been a hallucination, but it sure as hell had felt real enough at the time. Real enough to make him wake up with a pounding headache, which John realized he still had. "Was I asleep for long?"

"From what Carson told me, about two hours." Elizabeth glanced at her watch for a minute, then back at John. "Do you want me to call him?"

Knowing it would hurt to shake his head, John settled for a firm, "No. I'm good. What brings you here?" He tried to settle himself back against the pillows, but the nervous tension he was feeling refused to abate and he couldn't seem to get himself to relax. Especially when Elizabeth moved closer to the bed. It was starting to freak John out a bit that he couldn't control the fact that just seeing Elizabeth was freaking him out.

Elizabeth narrowed her gaze at him for a moment, as if debating something internally, but then she seemed to relax and answered him willingly enough. "I just wanted to check on you. You had us all worried for a while."

"Yeah...sorry about that." John meant it. "Hey, can you call Rodney for me? I need to talk to him about something."

"He's busy with a systems check right now," Elizabeth replied. "But I can give him your message."

John realized he'd have to settle for that. "Nothing's wrong is it? I mean, with Atlantis?" Cause there sure as hell was something wrong with him. He didn't know what was going on or why, but he knew it involved himself and Elizabeth, but she didn't seem to be able to help him given their past conversations, so he'd have to figure things out for himself. Only John was sure Rodney would be able to help him, if he could just talk to him for five minutes.

Elizabeth rested one hand on the bedrail. "Nothing serious," she replied. "Radek detected some minute power fluctuations so Rodney want's to run a few tests and the like. I'll keep you updated if you like."

"Yeah, I'd like." Although he was out of the loop of things for the moment, John still wanted to know what was going on. Atlantis was his city now, after all. Which reminded him of something. "Are Ronon and Teyla around?" It occurred to John he could get them to fetch Rodney.

"They went out with Lorne's team," Elizabeth replied. "They left just a few hours ago."

John was disappointed to hear that, and a bit irked. He knew it wasn't fair to expect Ronon and Teyla, or even Rodney to be stuck doing nothing while he was stuck in the infirmary, but they were his team, dammit. When they weren't with him, he worried about them. "Nothing dangerous, I hope," he queried.

Elizabeth grinned. "I hope not. They were bored so they asked to tag along on what's supposedly a hunting expedition. You remember those boar like creatures on M7M-566?" At John's nod she continued. "Well after weeks of testing, it's been determined that the meat is both safe and edible, so we may have steak soon."

"Sounds good," John replied, ignoring the way his stomach roiled at the mere mention of food.

"I hope so," Elizabeth countered. She looked like she had more to say but her radio beeped and she sighed and tapped her ear piece. "Weir here."

"You're needed in lab 2, Dr. Weir," Came Chuck the Technician's voice. "Some kind of dispute going on that needs your negotiating skills."

Elizabeth made a show of rolling her eyes then said, "On my way," before tapping off. "I'll see you later, John," she told him, before heading out.

John watched her go then he looked around for a nurse. He didn't see one, or anyone else for that matter, so he quickly yanked out his IV and slid out of bed. Since Rodney wouldn't come to him, he was just going to have to go to Rodney. Ignoring the cold tile beneath his bare feet, John slipped quietly out of the infirmary.

OoO

"I haven't had a chance to research anything!"

John glared at Rodney for that reply. He had really been counting on Rodney finding out something. Anything. But at the same time he realized it wasn't fair of him to be pissed. Rodney really was busy taking care of Atlantis and for McKay, that came first and rightfully so. Heaving a sigh at himself, John asked, "Can I borrow a laptop then? I'll do it myself."

Rodney made a face as he stared at John. "There's one on the table in the corner, but aren't you supposed to be in the infirmary?"

"What gave it away? The pretty pink scrubs?" John mocked, still feeling out of sorts. And feeling weak. To the point where his body took the hint and his knees suddenly buckled on him.

"You're an idiot!" Rodney spat, even as he lunged and caught John by the arm, keeping him upright. Mostly.

It took too much energy, that he didn't possess at the moment, to glare at Rodney. So John settled for doing his best to simply make it to the nearest chair without relying on Rodney as a crutch anymore than he had too. He was happy to sit down and put his head down on his folded arms for a moment.

Rodney fidgeted beside him. "You okay?"

"Will be." John lifted his head and sat up. "Where's the lap top?"

"John?"

He stiffened at the sound of Elizabeth's voice, shifting on the stool to see her standing in the doorway. Busted! "Hey," he called out, checking behind her as she strode over to him, expecting Beckett to be on her heels. When she reached him he gave her a rueful look. "I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

Elizabeth folded her arms across her chest and nodded. "You are. And you owe me big time. I convinced Carson to let me find you and bring you back to the infirmary."

"Heh...I'm surprised you were able to talk him out of sending the cavalry," John countered, and he meant it. He was surprised, and grateful.

"I told him about your hallucinations," Elizabeth stated.

That particular revelation rocked John back on his chair as if he'd been slapped. "You told him?" He whispered. He hadn't expected that. Nor did he expect Carson will have believed her. Then again, since Elizabeth had experienced them to begin with, maybe the good doc would believe her about it, since he hadn't bought it from John. Which would be a relief.

But Elizabeth's next comment killed John's hope. "He's contacting Kate to talk with you, John."

"Oh." John frowned at Elizabeth. "Why didn't you explain to him that I'm not crazy?"

"What's going on here?" Rodney interjected, looking pissed off and curious at the same time, in the way only Rodney could pull off.

John was too focused on Elizabeth and waiting for her reply, to respond to McKay. "Didn't you explain to him how I'm getting trapped in your hallucination?" He watched her drop eye contact and a feeling of dread wormed its way into the pit of his stomach. "You don't believe me..." John whispered, and that right there was like another kick in the head.

Elizabeth took a step towards him, one hand out in a placating gesture, but John found himself scrambling to his feet and backing away from her. "I would believe you, John," she said softly. "If you were infected. But there are no sign of nanites. I had Carson test you again. Nothing is there."

"So...so that just leaves me being crazy...right?" John felt the fear come flooding back to him as she continued to stalk him. He kept backing up till he hit the far wall and suddenly there was no where to go. John looked to Rodney for help, but the scientist was staring at him like he'd suddenly grown a third head. So no help there. "I helped you get free," John reminded Elizabeth. "I helped you!" He was starting to feel sick and angry and those emotions churned in his gut along with the fear.

"I'm going to help you, John," Elizabeth promised as she stepped into his personal space.

He watched her reach out to him but he knew he needed to escape. So he pushed her away with the intention of running for the door, only the minute he touched her, John felt himself falling into darkness.

**THE END...of part 7**


	8. Chapter 8

**THE CONNECTION . . . Part 8**

When John came to, he knew without looking that he was back in the  
hospital room on Earth. Back in the _hallucination_ of a hospital room  
on Earth. He almost laughed out loud at the announcer in his head  
saying, "Previously on Days of --" except he got stuck on "of" and  
didn't know what to call this – days of our incredibly screwed life?

He didn't know if it was morning, or night. And it didn't even matter.

It wasn't like it made a difference.

Even though he hated to open his eyes, because then he'd have to face  
the reality of this _unreality_, John gave in and opened his eyes,  
looking around. Surprise, surprise, same room, same door, and he was  
pretty sure it was still locked. Damn it. He rolled out of bed and  
glared at the scrubs.

Just for posterity, he padded across the room and tried the door. It  
rattled and he dropped his hand, chagrined. Figures. He turned and tried  
to think of something he could do, anything that might help him get out  
of this. He thought about it for a while, pacing and circling the room.  
Damn shame that he kept coming up with nothing.

It was quiet in the room, the only sound was the radiator hissing and  
popping from time to time. So, when he heard footsteps outside his door,  
John knew to back away, heading warily towards the bed in the corner. A  
painful flash of Elizabeth leaning over him and kicking him in the head  
reminded him that he should put some distance between that door and his  
body.

The doorknob twisted, then the door swung inward. Fletcher trailed a  
nurse and two burly guards. John nodded at the guards and said, "What,  
you don't trust me anymore? I'm crushed."

The corners of Fletcher's eyes crinkled. "No, I don't. But then again,  
you've given us very little reason to do so, haven't you John?"

John smiled enigmatically. "Nothing personal."

"Good." Fletcher nodded at the guards and stepped to the side. "I hope  
you'll believe that this is nothing personal, also."

There were a lot of reactions a person could have to that kind of  
exchange. "Oh, Crap" and "Oh, no" and "What the hell are you doing?"  
were a few of the default sayings that came to mind, but John was  
watching Fletcher carefully and he knew that the nanite-created persona  
wouldn't have a lot of reaction to any of the above.

He remained passive, even though it took every ounce of control he had.  
The guards took an arm each and hauled him from the room. They dragged  
him through the corridors until they pushed him into Fletcher's office.  
It was just like before, not even the color of the chair had changed.

"Have a seat, John. We need to talk." Fletcher walked around John and  
sat behind the desk. He had a medical folder in front of him and John  
peered over to see his name stenciled across the small tab. So, the  
gloves were definitely off. There was no more pretending this was  
anything from Elizabeth's hallucination.

What were the nanites up to? What'd they hope to accomplish? And how  
were they hiding when he surfaced on Atlantis? Were they intentionally  
_letting_ him return to lucidity or was that out of their control?

John kept standing.

Fletcher had a lot going on behind that mask of caring. He wasn't  
letting anything through that John could use, and John's refusal only  
incited the doctor to incline his head and smile wryly. "Your comfort  
is, of course, up to you," he conceded. "But I had to try."

"Get on with it, Fletcher. What do you want from me? To believe this?"  
John swept his hand at the office décor. "I don't. I know this isn't  
real; that you aren't real. None of this is real. So why don't you save  
us both a lot of trouble and knock it off. I'm not buying what you're  
selling."

"Why do you believe it isn't real?"

John's reply of, "Because it isn't" was quick to fly.

Too bad Fletcher wasn't buying. "But why, John?" He asked but then  
picked up a pen and began drawing. In a few minutes, he had drawn  
something that looked like a monkey. He turned the paper to John and  
asked, "What do you see?"

"What are you doing? You think distraction is gonna work?"

"John, whatever reality you believe in, you're here now. This is reality  
right now. Humor me, what do you see?"

"This is stupid --"

Fletcher leaned over the table, pushing the paper closer to John and  
demanded louder, "What do you see, John? There's nothing to fear in  
answering a simple question. What. Do. You. See?"

He clamped his mouth shut and tried to come up with a reason not to  
answer. First, Fletcher was a nanite controlled hallucination. Second,  
cooperating was maybe admitting a small amount of defeat. Third, it's  
what Fletcher wanted. Fourth, it wouldn't get him out of this –

"If you refuse to cooperate, I'll have you drugged into it." Fletcher  
gazed at John, his eyes two equal points of grey steel. "Now, either  
answer or don't, but when I have you placed on a regimen of  
mind-altering drugs and you can't even stand, remember who made _that_  
choice."

Wouldn't that give him the out he needed? John tried to remember, but he  
was pretty sure every time he was knocked out in 'this' world, he woke  
up back on Atlantis. He remained quiet.

Fletcher's face portrayed a believable sad resignation and he lifted his  
phone, rattled off orders, then hung up. "I'm sorry you had to force it  
to come to this, but remember, this was your choice."

The door burst open and the guards were back, a nurse in tow with a tray  
carrying two hypodermic needles. She went to deliver the tray to  
Fletcher and at the same time, John considered the success of taking her  
hostage and using the drugs against them. Problem was, he debated a  
second too long. She stepped by him and just when he was going for her,  
the two guards grabbed him again, and made it clear he wasn't going  
anywhere.

"John, I assure you, we are not doing this to hurt you."

He struggled, kicked, and closed his eyes, seeing Elizabeth kicking him  
again. "Not from where I'm sitting," he muttered angrily.

The nurse, Lisa, approached and pulled his scrub sleeve off his  
shoulder, exposing the skin fully. She swabbed with a cold alcohol wipe  
that chilled him far deeper than the surface. Then, Fletcher approached,  
tapped the needle and squirted a small amount of medicine to rid it of  
air bubbles, before quickly inserting it into John's skin with a motion  
so smooth he almost didn't feel it.

Just a pinch, then a burn, then it was done. Fletcher repeated the  
motion again.

By the time the guards released John, he could barely stand. The drugs  
were working fast and he felt fuzzy and weird.

He closed his eyes and thought about kicking his heels together, saying  
"there's no place like home" three times just for good measure.

The problem was, he grew wavy and muddled and hot, but he didn't feel  
the encroaching darkness of unconsciousness. He felt like everything was  
moving in slow motion. Fletcher pulled away and the guards shoved him  
into the chair. Then the picture was pushed in front of him and Fletcher  
demanded in warped, slow voice, "What do you see?"

John squinted and thought he might fall over. His limbs felt boneless.  
The picture looked like a monkey, and as he thought it, he said it out  
loud even though he didn't mean to.

Fletcher's face showed relief. "Yes, John, a monkey."

What was so important about a monkey? John couldn't understand why he  
hadn't answered in the first place. He was floaty and disconnected and  
all he wanted to do was huddle in a corner and watch. He just wanted to  
watch. "Go?" he asked. His room was safe. It had a corner. He could sit  
there.

"No, John, not yet."

He pulled his legs up against his chest and wrapped his hands around  
them, trying to anchor himself. This wasn't Atlantis. He wasn't going to  
sleep and waking up in his world. The hallucination wouldn't leave him  
alone. John stared at the picture.

"You don't believe this is real. You are living two realities and only  
one can be true. Over three years ago your reality was fractured. You  
were ferrying a VIP to a secret base when you were in a crash. Your  
helicopter was brought down and the VIP died and you blamed yourself.  
You concocted this other reality to cope." Fletcher flipped the paper  
until the top became the bottom. "Now what do you see?"

"A monkey," John replied woodenly.

"Yes, John. Upside down, or right side up, it is still a monkey. And  
just like the picture, whether you are living your fictional reality or  
back here where we are trying to help you, nothing has changed. A monkey  
is a monkey, and reality is reality. It doesn't change just because  
something happens to turn it on its side."

O'Neill was the VIP, had been the VIP. John scrunched a hand against his  
forehead. Think think think – he was trying, but the drugs made  
everything so hard. "General O'Neill came to visit me. Here. When I  
first woke up."

"Your memories are unreliable. Events you are convinced happened, never  
did. You thought we had you talk with your mother, but she died years  
ago. You're fixated on this Elizabeth character. If we're going to help  
you, then you must quit believing in fantasy."

"I don't…don't…" John stuttered.

"You've suffered a cognitive break, John. The helicopter crash so soon  
after losing your friends and then failing to save Captain Holland on an  
unauthorized rescue mission, it was too much. If you don't start  
resisting the other reality, it will take over. It will win and you will  
live the rest of your life in a permanent vegetative state. Is that what  
you want?"

John slammed his eyes shut and imagined his body lying on Atlantis.  
"No," he slurred honestly.

Elizabeth. Rodney. Teyla and Ronon. Carson. Radek. John recited the  
names in his head and tried to hold on, but he was drifting. Everything  
was so slippery in his mind. If he tried to grab a solid memory it  
became limp and insubstantial and he couldn't be sure of anything.

The drugs. He'd been injected with drugs.

"Can't think," he muttered.

Fletcher was suddenly in front of him, his arms straddling the arms of  
John's chair. "It's Elizabeth, John. You built this world around a  
fantasy. You never met Elizabeth Weir. What color is her hair?"

"B..b…brown."

Suddenly a picture of a blonde-haired woman in a business suit was  
thrust into his hands. "That is Elizabeth Weir, currently in Europe  
negotiating a ceasefire between warring factions in Africa."

"Not…her." It was a struggle to talk.

Fletcher's composure suffered. He slammed the picture on the desk. "Damn  
it, John! The Elizabeth in your mind is a figment and believing in her  
is going to pull you so far from reality I won't be able to help you. As  
it is, you're there more than you're here. You must stop this. Tell  
those figments of reality that they don't exist and watch what happens!  
Just try it! See how angry they'll get, because it's a defensive  
measure. They want you to believe because _you_ want to believe!"

Atlantis wasn't a figment. His chopper hadn't been shot down. The drone  
had stopped, Carson had turned it off – _Carson_!

"Who…who shot…me…"

"Who shot you down?" Fletcher finished. When John nodded, he reached  
around to a drawer in his desk and pulled it open. He rifled for a few  
seconds before pulling a folder out. He sat on the edge of his desk and  
began flipping through papers before finding the one he needed. "Ah,  
here it is. Are you sure you want to know? It isn't pretty, I'm afraid."

"Yes…yes…tell…me." Had he mentioned Carson before to these nanites? John  
couldn't remember.

"A Doctor Lee – it says he committed suicide a year later from guilt and  
remorse. He left behind a note, to you, actually. But you've never been  
lucid enough for it."

John had hoped they'd slip and say Carson. Because how would he have  
known the name of the person who shot the drone unless he'd met the  
person, but the nanites weren't stupid, apparently. Or maybe he'd  
slipped. He couldn't think, or be sure his logic wasn't faulty right now.

Fletcher gestured at the guards to take a hold of John again. They  
pulled him up and toward the door. His feet were cumbersome, tripping  
him more than helping him walk. John saw the hall passing again and then  
his door. The nurse stepped around and unlocked it, pushing it in for  
the guards to drag him through. Then he was being thrown onto the bed  
and Fletcher stood over him, his face concerned, as if he was the one  
that was so sad and sorry that all of this was going on instead of being  
the one behind it all.

"Your mind's fracturing, John," he spoke, his voice growing dim and  
far-away. "If you don't break the cycle, there's nothing I can do to  
save you."

John rolled away from Fletcher. Not real. Just nanites. Not real.  
Atlantis was -- _is_ --real…

"Ask them who's real. See what they do! Don't forget!" the doctor urged  
as John's world slipped away…

The End…of part 8


	9. Chapter 9

**THE CONNECTION...part 9**

He heard a familiar voice calling his name. Carson's voice. Carson, who was very very real. So John peeled his heavy eyelids open and blinked hard to bring the Scotsman's face into focus. "Hey..." he croaked.

"Welcome back, Colonel," Carson said, looking relieved, then he was holding out a glass of water and guiding the straw to John's mouth.

The cool water sliding down his parched throat felt like heaven. Even though Carson only allowed him a couple of sips. It made him feel better and John shifted, trying to ease the ache in his muscles only to realize something that made him very unhappy. He had an IV and a catheter. "How long was I out?" He asked the question, even though he wasn't all that sure he wanted to know the answer.

Carson made a strange face, something between a grimace and outright confusion with a touch of sadness, then he grabbed a chair and pulled it over. He was silent as he sat down, then he huffed a sigh and blurted out, "You've been in and out of it for nearly two days, Colonel."

"Oh." John was so surprised to hear that it had been that long, that he wasn't sure how to respond. He figured he was out for maybe a couple of hours. "Why...why so long?" he really hoped Carson could answer this one.

"Good question," Carson replied, looking bemused. He scratched his skin then admitted, "I can't figure it out to be honest. You're feverish, dehydrated, slipping in an out of awareness and various other symptoms, but your blood work and other tests are clean. You don't have a virus or any physical injury that would explain what's happening.

John made a scrunchy face, feeling a cold chill sweep over him that left him shuddering in its wake and Carson jumping up to grab another blanket to spread over him before checking his temp. The good Doc didn't look pleased. John wished he could tell him what was wrong. Tell him about the nanites. But he knew Carson wouldn't believe him. Thanks to Elizabeth, Carson would simply believe he really was cracking up. To be honest, John was starting to wonder about it himself.

He couldn't help but think about what Fletcher had said to him about reality. His reality. The _real_ reality. Which was Atlantis. John knew he was where he belonged, he knew this was real, but even so he found himself reaching out to grab for Beckett's arm. He felt a rush of relief when he clutched at warm, solid, flesh.

"Colonel?" Carson looked surprised, staring at John's hand on his arm.

"Sorry." John pulled back and tried to curl up into a more comfortable position. But there was nothing comfortable about a catheter. "Um...could I use the bathroom...and take a shower?" He felt itchy and too warm even though he was a bit cold. He felt like he needed to wash off the memory of what had happened in the non reality so that he could better confront the real world. John knew he would have a fight on his hands trying to convince someone of what was happening. Rodney being his best bet on that front. But shower first. He needed to clear his head.

But Carson was giving him disapproving look. The one that said John was crazy if he thought the Doc was going to agree to his request.

So John made puppy eyes at him and begged. "Please? You can stay with me and everything, I just need to pee and feel clean."

"If I let you do this, do you promise to eat for me?" Carson was never above bargaining to get what he wanted.

"I'll eat whatever you give me," John promised, crossing the fingers of the hand that was hidden under the blankets. The last thing he was interested in right now was food, but he'd cross that bridge when the time came.

Heaving a sigh, Carson turned away and grabbed a pair of gloves from the box on the wall. "Fine. A quick shower though, and I'm putting the IV back when you're done."

John could live with that. He cooperated fully as Carson removed the catheter, only grunting a bit and making a face. Then the IV was gone and as John let himself be settled into a wheel chair, he made another request. "Can I wear my own sweats and a t-shirt?" He wasn't about to stay in a gown, but he didn't want to wear scrubs either.

"You get scrubs or a gown," Carson countered, his tone brooking no argument as he moved to the back of the chair and began pushing John towards the bathroom.

"Why not sweats?" John argued, because he really loathed the idea of wearing scrubs. He didn't want to think about that other place. Although he was already having a hard time getting the image of Fletcher to stop dancing in his head.

Carson heaved a dramatic sigh. "Because I said so, Colonel," he stated. "You get scrubs or a gown. Which will it be?"

Knowing that he wasn't going to win this argument, at least not at the moment, John relented and muttered, "Scrubs." They had reached the bathroom and he pushed out of the chair, surprised by how his knees buckled and the floor tilted and strong hands were suddenly supporting him.

"Easy now, Colonel," Beckett was saying from beside him. "Maybe we should get you back to bed and consider a shower later."

"No!" John found his footing as the dizziness passed and pushed away from Beckett. "I'm okay. I just...I stood up too fast." He hoped that was all it was, anyway.

At least Carson seemed to buy it. "I'll help you into the bathroom and get you into the shower then."

John wanted to argue he could get himself in the shower, but he realized he had to pick his battles. So he let Carson support him as he relieved himself, let the Doc help him strip off the gown, then he was finally left alone to wash up under the blessedly hot spray of water.

Time ticked by quickly, because one minute he was washing up and feeling like he was scrubbing and rinsing away the bad memories of Fletcher's world, and the next minute Carson was there, pulling him out of the water and practically drying him off and dressing him in white scrubs.

John was tempted to ask for the pink scrubs. Instead he let himself be pushed back into the chair, wheeled back to his bed, settled back in and hooked back up to the IV. He was actually starting to consider the merits of a nap, since he was feeling sleeping and worn out, when a figure appeared next to the bed, holding out a mug of something that was steaming.

Elizabeth smiled at John as she offered the mug. "Carson asked me to pick up a mug of broth on my way here," she stated.

Fear rippled through John in paralyzing waves. He couldn't move. All he could do was stare at Elizabeth.

"You promised me you'd eat, Colonel," Carson chided him, taking the mug and forcing it into one of John's hands.

But John wasn't about to accept anything Elizabeth offered him. She was the enemy. He knew that what was happening to him was her fault. Somehow she was still connected to the nanites. That had to be it. They were getting to him through her. It would explain everything. So John threw the mug at her, yanking the covers off and slipping off the bed. When Elizabeth stepped towards him, looking more surprised than scared, John backed away. He knew he had to keep his distance. "Stay away from me!" he screamed at her. And all his attention was focused on Elizabeth.

To the point where he didn't see Carson and a male nurse sneaking up on him until it was too late. They grabbed him and pinned him and John was too weak and worn out to fight against them. He felt a pinch in his shoulder, reminding him of the way Fletcher had drugged him. And maybe Fletcher was right. Maybe that was his real world or maybe Elizabeth was a part of that world that was bleeding into this one. Or maybe... John tried to stay focused but his vision was blurring at the edges, gray shading into black, voices becoming muffled, and then he was spiraling into oblivion.

OoO

He wasn't all that surprised to wake up and find his wrists in padded cuffs. He was a little bit surprised that he wasn't in his little room in Fletcher World. There was a curtain surrounding his bed now, a privacy curtain, but John knew he was still on Atlantis. Which he hoped was a good thing. It had to be the real thing.

He realized something else too. He was feeling sluggish and heavy. Carson must have him heavily drugged. Maybe Elizabeth told him to do that, to keep him from being able to think clearly. She was sick, infected. John had to figure out how to convince everyone else of that fact before it was too late.

"Colonel?"

He jerked, arms pulling at the restraints that held fast before turning his head to see Carson standing by his bed. He hadn't heard him approach. His mind felt too heavy, his thoughts fragmented, his focus dimmed. "Nanites," John whispered.

Carson sighed and shook his head. "I told you, son. I've tested you. You're clean."

"Elizabeth." John saw Carson's eyes go wide at that.

"She's clean too," Carson replied, once he got over his surprise. He patted John on the shoulder. "You need to rest, Colonel. Just concentrate on getting better."

John almost laughed at that. How did someone get better from going crazy, because he knew that's what everyone thought was happening to him. "I need to see Rodney." He could hear the desperation in his slurred tone. But John knew that Rodney would be the only one who would believe him. The only one who could help him.

Carson shifted a bit, looking decidedly uncomfortable. He hemmed and hawed long enough for John to realize something was wrong, before blurting out, "Rodney is off-world right now."

"What?" John was more than a little surprised to hear that.

"Lorne's team found an energy reading that could prove very interesting," Carson explained. "So Rodney went with them to check it out and Ronon and Teyla went to keep an eye on Rodney."

Which, effectively, left John alone with the enemy. He had no doubt but that Elizabeth had planned this somehow. "She's doing this," John whispered.

Carson leaned in to him, looking confused. "She who? And doing what?" he prompted.

"Elizabeth!" John spat her name, feeling his agitation rising. He pulled against the restraints, feeling panic surging. He had to get out of here. He had to find the proof of what was happening to him or he'd be trapped in between realities forever. "She's doing this to me!" John snarled, unable to keep his fear and anger in check. "She's keeping Rodney away from me! She knows he can help me!"

"John." It was Elizabeth who called his name as she approached them. And she wasn't alone. Kate was with her.

John wasn't that surprised to see her. They thought he was crazy, so of course they'd bring in the shrink. But he wasn't going to play this game. He glared at Elizabeth. "I know what you're doing," he hissed at her as he tugged on his bindings. She was moving too close and it made him nervous.

But Elizabeth didn't reach for him. She just stood there, arms crossed over her chest, putting on a sad face. "I want to help you, John," she said, letting sincerity shine through her voice. "That's all any of us want. Just to help you. You have to let us do that."

"Then let me talk to Rodney!" John kept tugging at the restraints, desperate to be free. He had to get out of here. He had to get to Rodney before it was too late.

"Take it easy, Colonel." It was Kate who approached him now, reaching out to grip one forearm to still his struggles. "I can help you get through this."

John glared at her. "I'm not crazy!" he shouted. "I just...you have to believe me!" He knew they didn't though. He could see the doubt and pity on their faces. He thought he saw satisfaction on Elizabeth's. But maybe he could get through to Kate. Maybe Elizabeth hadn't converted her yet. "I can prove I'm not crazy," he told her. "You just have to let me out of here. Let me find Rodney. He can help me prove it!" John knew he was begging for her to believe him, and he'd happily beg if it worked.

But it was Elizabeth who replied. "We know you're not crazy, John," she said in a soothing tone. Her diplomatic skills were in full display, but John wasn't buying it.

"This is all your fault!" he snarled at her. "You're doing this to me! Why?!" he screamed the question at her because he really wanted to know. Why did she betray him? In the end she would betray them all.

"Colonel, you need to calm down, lad." Carson was on his other side, reaching for John's arm, sedative in hand.

John tried to pull away, but the restraints held fast. He shook his head. "No! Please...don't!"

But it was Elizabeth he should have been watching out for. She reached for him, eyes brimming with sympathy and madness. "It's going to be all right, John. We're going to help you," she lied.

Then she touched him, her cold fingers curling over his arm and everything in John's world faded to black.

**THE END...of part 9**


	10. Chapter 10

**THE CONNECTION . . . Part 10**

John slowly became aware that he was staring at the door. Blinking heavily, he tried to clear the film from his eyes as well as the fog from his brain. He was staring at the same door he'd seen many times before, the one in the hospital on Earth. Groaning, he knew he should have expected it, but his brain just didn't feel like it was working properly. Part of him wanted to get up and pace or yell or something, but it seemed like his limbs had all doubled in weight. He kept willing himself to get up and yet he continued to lie there, staring at the door, waiting on it to open.

A noise down the hall startled him, making him realize he'd been fading in and out. Rubbing his eyes, he found his mind beginning to clear just a little, making him wonder how long it would be before his friends showed up. A few minutes later, he heard keys jangling in the lock, the sound urging him forward to finally sit up. Listing slightly to one side and feeling decidedly lightheaded, he watched a nurse come in bearing a tray of food. The same two large guards stood at the door, staring him down.

The nurse set the tray on a rolling table and shoved it over in front of him, sloshing the soup over the edge of the bowl. Dazed, he looked down at it, noting the still swaying soup, sandwich, and jello, along with a cup of juice and a small plastic cup. "You need to take your pills," she ordered.

John reached out with a trembling hand, knocking the cup over sideways with his inability to properly coordinate his movements. Sighing heavily, the nurse snatched the cup up and poured three pills out into her hand, which she then held out to John. "_Take _the pills!"

He really wanted to hit her. For a moment, he fantasized about leaping up and punching her right in the mouth, knowing in his present state she would probably end up punching him before he even got fully off the edge of the bed. But it was a nice thought, bringing a small smile to his face.

She sighed again, adding some eye rolling into the mix. "Take the pills or these two will shove them down your throat, Colonel Sheppard. We have all lost patience with your belligerent attitude."

John reached out his hand and she dropped the pills into his open palm. He stared at them a few seconds before her shifting drove him to put them in his mouth. She stared, hands on her hips while he took a couple of swallows of juice, and then broke out into a smug grin.

"Now see, that wasn't so hard, was it? You better eat your dinner while you still can." She flicked her wrist in a half-wave and then bopped out the door, the smirking guards following. The sound of the key in the lock let him know they didn't forget to lock him in.

John leaned forward and looked at the pills lying at the bottom of his cup of juice. Funny how backwash can come in handy. He didn't want to eat, but his stomach was telling him he needed to, so he picked up the spoon and slurped up a mouthful of barely lukewarm vegetable soup. Grimacing, he tried a bite of the sandwich. The bread was a bit stale and there was little meat on it, but it was edible, so he took another bite.

Although his mind was slowly clearing, he was still sluggish and slow, so he startled when the nurse burst in with Dr. Fletcher several minutes later. He hadn't even heard the key in the lock.

"Colonel Sheppard, Lisa tells me you took your meds like a good little patient. Now why don't I believe it was that easy?" Fletcher's gaze hardened as he walked over and studied John's tray.

John looked up at him, resisting the urge to look in the juice for tell-tale signs of his deception. "She saw me," he said simply, watching Fletcher's face. He thought for a moment that he was going to get by with his trick, until Fletcher's expression hardened and reached down to jerk the cup of juice up, tilting it for a closer look.

"You disappoint me, Colonel. I warned you about keeping you drugged if you didn't cooperate, and you ignored me. Then I give you another chance to accept our help graciously instead of fighting us tooth and nail, and you deceive us." He slammed the cup down angrily, spraying drops of juice all over the tray and John. "No more chances, Colonel Sheppard. We do this the hard way."

John knew he was still too sluggish from the previous round of drugs to effectively fight or run for it, but he sure wasn't going to just sit here passively letting them pump him full of God knows what. He pushed the table away and scrambled back on the bed until his back was against the wall. Fletcher shook his head, his mouth curled in a grimace as if he found what he had to do distasteful. The two burly guards from before were suddenly there, grabbing him by the ankles and dragging him across the bed.

All the anger and frustration and confusion fueled his battle as he kicked and squirmed and lashed out at anything within striking distance. It was disconcerting how easy it was for the two men to pin him firmly to the mattress, where he could hardly breathe. He felt the needle in his arm again and he yelled, venting some of his wrath.

_This isn't real. If I fight it, the drugs won't have any effect because none of this is real._ He continued to drill the falsehood of the situation into this head, but it didn't stop the drugs from quickly taking him down. In minutes, he could barely move and was finding it increasingly hard to think. One of the guards grabbed the front of his scrub top and jerked him to a sitting position, shoving him forcefully and cracking his head against the wall.

John's vision went dark, sounds becoming muffled and garbled for a while, before someone slapped him on the cheek.

"I said open your eyes! You brought this on yourself, John. You. Only you. I warned you and warned you, but you wouldn't let us help you. You're here to be treated and I plan on treating you, with or without your help. _Open your eyes._"

John heard Fletcher's voice, but his drugged body had a hard time responding. It took a lot more work that he would have thought possible for him to open his eyes and look up at his tormenter. His surroundings seemed to shift and warp like objects in a fun mirror, making his head swim and his stomach churn. A smug smile replaced the look of anger on Fletcher's face.

"Better, Colonel, much better. Since you've made this hard, as usual, we'll have to conduct your session right here." He thrust a picture in John's lap.

John looked down, his head shaking a little on a neck that seemed too weak to support it. The 8 X 10 photo showed a mangled helicopter, tendrils of smoke curling up to contrast the blue sky in the background.

"This is your helicopter, the one that crashed. This is where you almost died. This is where you were unable to keep General O'Neill from dying."

John stared at the photo. "Could be . . . any hel'opter."

Fletcher crossed his arms, the deep scowl returning. "Yes, but it's not. It was your helicopter. You were seriously injured in the crash, so I'm not surprised that you don't remember what your ship looked like after the accident."

John continued to stare at the wreckage, looking for something that had survived the crash enough to give positive identification to the ship. He'd flown a similar model in Afghanistan and had survived a crash that left the chopper looking much like this one, but there was snow in the photograph's background, not sand.

"Do you recognize the ship now?" asked Fletcher impatiently.

John slowly raised his gaze to meet the neutral expression of the doctor. The motion made him dizzy and he had to put his hand on the bed to steady himself. "Not . . . sure." His thoughts wouldn't seem to pull together and he was increasingly disoriented. He thought he remembered being afraid a few minutes ago, but now he couldn't remember why.

Another photo landed in his lap. His head wobbled unsteadily as he lowered it to look at the picture. A coffin draped in an American flag was being carried by several Air Force officers with grim expressions on their faces. "This is General O'Neill's funeral."

Once again, there was nothing in the picture to indicate the validity of Fletcher's claim. Almost anyone could be in the coffin. John didn't recognize anyone in the photograph, but then, he probably wouldn't. "Could . . . be anyone," he stammered out, still pushing defensively against Fletcher's claims, even though the reason was becoming increasingly vague.

Sighing, Fletcher shook his head. "Still stubborn." He bent down until his face was inches from John's. "This is real," he said forcefully, jabbing one finger at the pictures in John's lap. "This is your crashed helicopter and this is General Jack O'Neill's funeral. You were still in the hospital when the funeral took place, so I understand you not recognizing it. The sooner you accept reality and face it, the sooner we can get you on the road to recovery." Fletcher pushed away from the pilot and stood back up.

John pushed the pictures away and drew his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. He wasn't sure any more; it was all too confusing. The way the room swayed back and forth making him seasick wasn't helping.

"Tell me something, Colonel. I've heard from others that you love to fly. Is that true?"

John pulled his gaze up to meet Fletcher's. "Love . . . flying . . . Makes you free." _Not like here._

Fletcher smiled at him, for the first time in a while. "Yes, I understand what you mean. Do you want to be able to fly again?"

"Yes." Even though John's mind was completely muddled, he knew he loved to fly and he knew he had to fly again. That much was certain.

"All right, then that's what you need to focus on. Until you accept what is real and abandon this fantasy world of yours, you will not be allowed to fly. You're going to have to work really hard and cooperate if you _ever_ want to have even a remote chance at piloting again, because they don't let crazy people fly airplanes or helicopters or anything else, and you know this."

John frowned and leaned his head against his knees. Fletcher was right about that part. If he was wrong and _this _was what was real, then he was royally screwed. You didn't often get out of a mental facility and go back to flying. What if he was just ensuring that he didn't get to fly anything for the rest of his life? What if Fletcher was telling the truth and Atlantis was the fantasy world? There was no Elizabeth, no Carson, no Ronon, no Teyla, no Rodney.

John started laughing. There was no way the details of his memories, from the halls of Atlantis to Teyla's soft laugh to Rodney's irritating tirades were false. There was no way he imagined the pain of having an iratus bug attached to his neck or the adrenalin rush of going one-on-one with a 10,000 year old Wraith. Atlantis was his reality and _this _world was the hallucination.

"What's so funny?" asked Fletcher, the anger back in triplicate and the large goons moving a step closer in case John somehow needed to be restrained.

"You," John choked out between chuckles. "Not . . . real." He stopped laughing and mustered up every bit of control and clarity that he could as he glared at Fletcher. "Atlantis . . . is . . . real. Go to hell."

John felt smug satisfaction at the confused look on Fletcher's face for what seemed like a long time. But the doctor's expression began to slowly change to one of satisfaction, as if this was the way he had wanted things to play out.

"It seems even the drugs have limited effectiveness, Colonel Sheppard. I think we may have to try other avenues. Other, more extreme measures to try and help you. I had hoped to avoid that, but you leave me no choice." Fletcher smiled and it made cold chills run down John's spine. "I'll go make the necessary arrangements while you think about the consequences of your actions."

Fletcher leaned down to get eye to eye with John. "I will break you," he whispered quietly enough that John was the only one to hear. "You deny the existence of Atlantis before we are through." He broke out into a broad grin. "I will win." His eyes flashed silver for a split second and then he was walking away.

John blinked heavily, trying to figure out if he had imagined the glint in Fletcher's eye. Bringing his hand up, he rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his head. When he dropped his hand and looked back up, Fletcher was coming toward him with another syringe.

"No! No . . . more drugs . . . no." He thrashed around a second, trying to pull away from his tormentor, but he was too muddled already. It only took one guard to hold him down while Fletcher injected him with something amber in color.

Fletcher stood back up and grinned down at John. "Just a little something to get you ready, Colonel Sheppard. You really should have cooperated." The guard released John and he slumped, boneless, over onto his side. He was vaguely aware of the door slamming and the intense silence that followed. All he could see was the wall beside his bed and it was weaving and swaying in a sickening fashion. Lethargy crept in until John couldn't move. His body felt wired and exhausted at the same time, his thoughts slowing until the room finally faded away into darkness.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

**Note: **I apologize for the delay posting this chapter. I let RL get ahead of me for a while. Actually, it's still ahead, but I managed to find time to post a chapter. Happy reading.

**THE CONNECTION...part 11**

He woke up in stages, feeling disconnected along the way, his body and his mind both aching. He wanted to slip back into the warm darkness, but someone was calling his name. He couldn't identify the voice and John was terrified that he was still trapped in Fletcher's realm. Terrified enough that he forced his eyes open and was near ready to weep in relief as Rodney's wavering visage appeared before him. A few blinks and the image solidified and John exhaled a shaky breath.

"About time you woke up," Rodney grumbled. "I don't have time to wait around for you, you know!"

John was confused. He didn't remember asking for Rodney lately. Or maybe he had just before slipping into Fletcher-ville. "How long," he croaked out.

Rodney made a big show of glancing at his watch. "Almost two days. How can you sleep that much anyway? I mean, I know you're sick and all with the fever thing that Carson can't seem to figure out. That's what happens when you let voodoo doctors practice on humans."

"Rodney!" John hissed, which made him cough until a straw touched his lips and he took a long pull of cool water. It felt like heaven sliding down his throat. When Rodney pulled the glass away, John tried to reach for it, only to discover he was back in restraints. He was really getting tired of this. Tired of being out of control of what was happening to him. Shifting to sit up as best he could against the pillows, he locked eyes with Rodney and whispered, "I need your help." He didn't even try to hide the edge of desperation in his tone. He was desperate at this point. Desperate and not a little bit terrified. He knew, without a doubt, that the next time he landed in Fletcher-verse he was in deep shit. Something bad, really bad, was going to happen to him. And not knowing what it would be was all the more terrifying.

"When don't you need my help?" Rodney countered, more than a little smugly. But then his expression morphed into exasperation and he shook a finger in John's face. "What the hell is wrong with you anyway? Why are you freaking out about Elizabeth? Do you know what you've done?"

John shook his head, which didn't help the ache in his head, but he was totally confused right now. "What are you talking about?" He didn't remember hurting her, just screaming at her to get away from him. Unless his memories were starting to falter. Unless the drugs Fletcher was giving him in the other place were starting to affect him in the real world. Which would suck beyond all suckage.

Rodney harrumphed at him then started pacing and wringing his hands before moving back to John's side to glare at him. He leaned in close and spoke sotto voce. "Elizabeth wants to send you back to Earth and Carson and Heightmeyer are all in agreement with him. They want to send you back to some nice hospital at SGC, and into a rubber room with your name on it. Get it?"

"Got it," John replied, feeling panic setting in. He couldn't go back to Earth, not like that. Not with Carson and Heightmeyer signing him off as crazy. His career and his chance to fly would be over forever. He didn't deserve that, not when what was happening to him was not his fault. Ignoring Rodney's glare, John stated, "It's Elizabeth's fault that I'm like this, Rodney. I can't explain how or why she's doing this to me, but she is. You have to help me stop her!"

"Elizabeth is making you go crazy?" Rodney shot back, disbelief clear in his tone. "Right. Because she's got magic crazy powers!"

John tugged at his restraints, wishing he could reach out and grab Rodney and shake him to make him listen. "I don't know how to explain this, but I know it's Elizabeth and I know it has something to do with the nanites!"

Rodney shook his head, regret shining in his eyes. "It can't be nanite related, Sheppard. Both you and Elizabeth are clean. Carson has checked you both repeatedly."

"I still think it has something to do with Ancient abilities," John countered, because he had to make Rodney believe him. "I think I am infected but that...somehow...my gene is hiding their presence." He was pretty sure he was talking out his ass, but it was the only thing that made sense to him right now, and he was willing to grasp at straws. He just needed to get Rodney willing to go to bat for him.

"I suppose that is a possibility," Rodney allowed, looking intrigued. He started pacing again, arms folded over his chest, but one hand lifting so he could tap at his chin with his forefinger. "Your gene has always been unique." Rodney scowled as he said that, but then continued on, his face clearing. "We really haven't had time to study it on a scientific level because, let's face it, Carson's research isn't worth a hill of beans. He's just theoreticizing and getting lucky on occasion."

John felt a ripple of hope. "So will you look into it for me? Please. Tell Elizabeth you have an idea of how to help me and ask her to give you time to check into it before sending me back. Will you do that, Rodney? Will you help me?" John didn't care that he was begging, he'd bribe Rodney with money or chocolate or anything he wanted if he would help him right now.

Rodney frowned at him. "Of course I'll help you, not that it's going to do any good. Elizabeth is convinced you've had a complete breakdown and Carson and Heightmeyer are along for the ride. Even if I do get Elizabeth to give me some time to research your condition, we're working on borrowed time here."

"I know that." No one knew that better than John. "But it's the only shot I've got. I'm not going crazy, Rodney. I'm not having a breakdown!" John felt himself getting agitated, even though Rodney had agreed to help him, it didn't mean that Rodney believed him.

"Chill out!" Rodney hissed, shooting a glance over his shoulder. "Carson will hear you and then you can wave goodbye to Atlantis!"

John forced himself to calm down, at least as much as he could given the circumstances. "Sorry...I'm just. I'm tired Rodney."

There was a long moment of silence as Rodney simply stood there, studying him. "You've been through a lot since you've been here, Sheppard. And I've read your records, all of them...don't look at me like that! Genius here! My point being that you've been through hell and back both here and on Earth. You're not Superman, you know. That kind of stuff would break anyone eventually."

"It hasn't broken me!" John snapped. "Listen...I'm going to tell you everything that's happened to me so you'll understand what I'm going through. Maybe it'll help you find something to fix things. Either that...or you'll run to Elizabeth and insist she ship me out ASAP!" John knew there was a good chance Rodney would freak out after he heard John's story, but it was a risk he was willing to take. If Rodney wasn't going to help him, he had no where left to turn anyway.

"You'd better talk fast," Rodney warned, as he pulled up a stool.

So John gave him the cliff notes version of everything that had happened since he had first touched Elizabeth to connect with her and help her fight her way back to them. He explained about Fletcher and the other place and how Fletcher had thought he was Elizabeth at first. He told him about his own hallucinations there, about seeing his mother and Jack O'Neill, only to now be told that he was in the hospital because he'd had a break down after crashing his helicopter with O'Neill as his passenger and the General dying. It was hard explaining how he shifted form one place to the other, but John didn't leave any details out, because something small could make the difference in Rodney's research. And he made it a point to explain how being touched by Elizabeth, or touching her, always seemed to send him into unconsciousness and into Fletcher's mad, mad world.

To Rodney's credit, he didn't interrupt once, or change expression even, during John's tale. But when John was done he jumped up and began pacing.

"Can you help me?" John asked, after a long minute passed in silence.

"It's interesting to say the least," Rodney muttered, obviously not really listening to John. But a moment later he turned to face him, striding over to the bed. "I'll do what I can and I'm going to ask Zelenka to help me. He's more open-minded than I am."

John couldn't argue with that point so he nodded.

Then Rodney continued. "You have to do what you can on your end, Sheppard. You have to try and be calm and reasonable around Elizabeth and Carson and Kate. If you keep flipping out then they're going to send you away for certain."

"I know." And John did know, it was just easier said than done. Especially when it came to Elizabeth. Every time he saw her he felt anger and fear that was out of his control. "I'll try," he promised.

"Don't try, do." Rodney was adamant. "I'm going to have a chat with Elizabeth. Cross your fingers."

John was willing to cross everything he could. "Good luck and thank you, Rodney."

Rodney grimaced. "Don't thank me yet. If I can't convince Elizabeth to let me have a go at fixing you, you'll be shipped out in the morning. So behave!" He hissed the last before turning and smiling at Carson who was heading straight for them. "See you later," Rodney muttered, then he slipped past Carson and out the door.

John had to resist the urge to call him back for moral support. Seeing Carson's face, which was clouded with both sympathy and concern, made John's stomach clench and queasiness settle over him.

"How are you feeling, Colonel?" Carson queries, as he begins checking vitals.

"Tired," John confesses, because he is tired and because he figures being honest might score him a few brownie points. At this point he'll take whatever he can get.

Carson nods before checking his temp. "Up again a bit," he sighs. "I'll give you another dose of Tylenol in a few minutes. Do you feel hungry?"

John knew he should be hungry, he couldn't remember the last time he had an actual meal in what was probably about two weeks. But, truth be told, just the thought of food made him feel sick.

"You need to eat, lad," Carson stated. "You've lost at least ten pounds that you could ill afford to lose."

"Make you a deal," John countered, tugging gently at the restraints. "Take these off and I'll try to eat. And I'd really love to be tubing free and take a shower."

Sadness crossed Carson's face. "I don't think you're physically up to a shower, Colonel. Between the fever and not eating you're very weak."

John couldn't deny the truth of that. He tugged on the restraints again. "Too weak to wander off on my own," he replied. "And far too weak to even hurt a fly at this point." He hoped he wasn't actually that weak, but he figured it would be best to play it up to get what he wanted. "I feel all grungy, Doc. I'll take a bath if it makes you happier." He knew they had tubs in the infirmary and he did feel grungy enough to be willing to take one."

But before Carson could reply, Ronon's deep voice rumbled from their right, "I'll help him shower!"

"He's very weak and won't be steady on his feet," Carson warned the Runner.

"Not a problem," Ronon replied, reaching the bed. "Is it a problem for you, Sheppard?"

John shook his head. "I'm feeling pretty desperate right now," he admitted.

To his surprise, five minute later he was IV and catheter free and Ronon was pushing him into the bathroom. Five minutes after that he was showered and being dried off. Ronon was nothing if not efficient. Once he was back in the wheelchair and drying his hair with a towel, John looked at Ronon and whispered, "Thanks."

"Welcome," Ronon replied, then he was crouching in front of John's chair. "What's wrong with you anyway?"

"Wish I knew," John replied, tossing the towel aside and locking eyes with Ronon. "But I do know that I'm not crazy and I'm not suffering a break down."

Ronon nodded. "I believe you."

John was so surprised he just stared at Ronon for a moment, mouth gaping open. Then he closed his mouth and managed a shaky smile. "Thanks. I was starting to feel like I was the only one who believed that. Kinda felt like you did too, since you've been the one holding me down so Carson can knock me out most of the time."

"Thought it was in your best interest," Ronon said, looking a bit abashed. He shrugged under John's steady gaze then drawled, "Things change. They want to send you away and I don't want that to happen."

"Me either, big guy." John felt relief wash over him, making him feel weak in the knees, even though he was already sitting down. "Rodney is going to figure out what's wrong and we'll fix me. Somehow."

Rising to his feet, Ronon said nothing, just moved to the back of John's chair to push him out of the bathroom. But before he wheeled him back to his freshly made bed, he leaned in to whisper in John's ear, "Just don't stop fighting, Sheppard."

It was a warning John was going to take to heart.

Carson was waiting for them, fussing as Ronon got John back into bed. He didn't insert another catheter, nor did he put John back in the restraints, but he did hook him up to another IV. "Another round of antibiotics and some nutrients," he explained as he worked.

John didn't argue, he just closed his eyes and dozed until Carson tapped him on the shoulder to wake him. John blinked and found himself staring at a steaming mug of what smelled like chicken broth. Shifting to be more upright, John took it without argument, swallowing down the bile that suddenly filled the back of his throat. So he made a pretense of cooling it off by blowing on it, trying to put off taking a sip as long as possible.

"If it doesn't sit well we'll try something else," Carson said, as if reading John's mind. "Just try a sip and we'll go from there."

"Okay." John did as he was told but nearly gagged. As he fought the reflex, the mug was plucked out of his hand.

Carson then rubbed John's back, trying to help soothe him. "We'll wait a few minutes then try some dry toast. If that doesn't work we'll try crackers and warm ginger ale."

It took a few minutes to control the nausea, but John finally leaned back into the pillows and nodded. "Whatever you say, Doc." He saw Carson's look of surprise. "I just want to feel better. I'm tired of this." It felt good to be honest about it for once and he saw sympathy flicker in Carson's gaze.

"I know it's been rough on you, lad," the Scotsman said softly. "I wish I knew how to help you."

"I know." John believed that Carson was being sincere. They were both just out of their league here. "I'm tired," he whispered, snuggling into the pillows and closing his eyes."

The covers were pulled up over his shoulders, then Carson leaned in to whisper, "Rest as much as you can, lad. We'll try the eating thing again when you wake up. Sleep is good for you."

Then John sensed the lights dimming and he listened to the echo of Carson's footsteps gliding away. He opened his eyes, not wanting to sleep for fear of shifting back to Fletcher's realm, but after a time his fatigue dragged him back into slumber. To John's surprise he didn't slip away from this world. He didn't even dream.

OoO

John ended up sleeping for six hours. When he woke up Carson was right there with some water to sip and a plate of dry toast. John managed the water and he forced himself to take a bite of toast. It was harder to swallow than a too chewy hunk of steak, but John forced it down with the help of another few sips of water.

Carson didn't force him to try again. "I'll get some ginger ale and crackers, Colonel. Those might even help settle your stomach."

"Okay, Doc." John was just relieved to see the toast disappear. He knew he needed to eat, but his stomach wasn't willing to cooperate. Maybe this was something he could force through mind over matter. Because if he didn't eat he'd just keep getting weaker and it would be harder to fight the fight.

"I wish there was more I could do for you, son," Carson said, his tone vibrating with remorse.

John knew exactly why Carson was feeling guilty, and it almost pissed him off that the doc wasn't telling him what was in store. Although maybe that just meant Rodney had gotten through to Elizabeth. In truth, John hadn't found the courage to ask for Rodney. He figured, either way, McKay would come to him with the end result. But for now John let his anger wash away and he managed a smile for Carson. "Not your fault."

Carson nodded. "I keep telling myself that. Are you feeling up to a visitor?"

"Who is it?" John really hoped it was Rodney with good news.

But Carson dashed his hopes. "It's Elizabeth, she'd like to see you."

"Sure." John didn't want to see her, but he knew he couldn't avoid her forever. Maybe she was coming to tell him his fate. Maybe facing it head on would be best. That had always worked for him in the past. "Send her in," John said, as firmly as he could.

"Let her know if you get tired and call me if you need me," Carson countered. Then he was gone.

John didn't get much of a respite. A minute later Elizabeth was there, smiling at him. "Hey," John offered in greeting, feeling himself tense up in her presence.

Elizabeth didn't seem to notice. She grabbed a stool and sat down. "You look a bit better than last time, John."

"Guess that's a good thing," he drawled.

"I'll take whatever I can get," Elizabeth allowed.

So would he at this point. But her politeness was grating on his nerves. "Rodney told me you want to send me back to Earth," John blurted out. He really hadn't meant to bring it up, but there it was. Now he readied himself for the bad news.

Elizabeth nodded. "I was going to send you tomorrow on the Daedalus, but they couldn't make it. They got called away, so you to a two week respite. During which time I've agreed to let Rodney research your condition. He believes there's something in the data base to explain what's happening to you, John."

"But you don't believe him." John wasn't asking, he was stating a fact. He could see it in her eyes that she believed he'd gone round the bend. Basically, she was just going to humor him for the next two weeks. So be it. He'd take the two weeks and believe in Rodney to find the truth. To find the way to fix him.

"I believe you've gone through so much hell since you've come to Atlantis, John," Elizabeth countered. "You're one of the strongest men I know, but what you've been through...it's no surprise that it's broken you down. But you'll get help back on Earth, and then you can come back here."

John knew she didn't believe a word she was telling him about coming back. They both knew the truth. If he got sent to Earth, he'd spend the rest of his life in some facility, because Elizabeth would make sure everyone believed he was broken and she would have Carson and Heightmeyer to back her up. What John didn't get was why she was doing this to him. He had helped her to get better. All John could believe was that the nanites were still affecting her some how. It just didn't make sense that they weren't showing up on Carson's sensors. Unless...maybe...something was wrong with the unit. John would have to remember to mention it to Rodney. Maybe he was grasping at straws, but he didn't care. He just wanted to get this figured out and get back to normal.

Locking eyes with Elizabeth, John countered, "Why won't you tell Carson the truth? How I was in your hallucinations? Why won't you help me?" He had to know why. He needed to understand what was going on here. He had to know if she was the true enemy or if she was being as controlled as he was.

"I'm trying to help you, John." Elizabeth reached for his hand but John pulled it out of her reach. He couldn't let her touch him.

"I don't believe you." He wasn't going to lie to her. But being close to her, being angry and confused, it made his head ache to the point where it was making him tear up from the sudden, stabbing pain in his temples.

Elizabeth eyed him with concern. "I'll get Carson!" She ran off only to return a moment later with the doctor in tow.

Carson gripped John's face in both hands. "How bad is the pain, son?" he asked.

"Bad," John gritted out, because right about now he felt like screaming.

"I'll give you something to help and to make you sleep," Carson replied.

John wanted to tell him no, but he needed the relief. Right now he couldn't even think straight. He wasn't sure how much time passed before he felt a soothing coolness seeping through his veins, then it was cutting into the pain, neutralizing it so John could breathe again. The coolness was immediately followed by a heady warmth, and he felt the pull of sleep. He decided not to fight against it. Elizabeth hadn't touched him so it should be okay, and maybe when he woke up again, Rodney would have found the answers he needed.

But as he drifted off, John felt a soft touch brush across his forehead. He forced his eyes open and was horrified to see Elizabeth leaning over him, her thin fingers burning into his skin in the moment before he felt himself melt into darkness.

**THE END...of part 11**


	12. Chapter 12

**THE CONNECTION...part 12**

John drifted into consciousness, still feeling drugged and lethargic. He could barely open his eyes, but the odd scents and sounds were pulling at him, demanding he pay attention. His eyes opened to stare at an unfamiliar ceiling and his stomach clenched at the sound of Fletcher's voice.

"Good, he's coming around." Suddenly the doctor was standing beside John, looking down at him with a strange grin. John was finally awake enough to look around and note he was on a gurney in the middle of a small, white room. It looked like some kind of treatment room, with shelves of drugs and materials and a couple of odd looking machines on carts. An IV had been started and he was hooked up to several monitors.

"What . . ." His mouth felt like he'd been sucking on a old sock, devoid of moisture and foul tasting. He had to smack his jaws a few times to create enough moisture to talk with. "What's going on?" He wanted to get up and leave, but his limbs felt heavy and he seemed to have absolutely no energy. He was pretty sure he couldn't even roll over at this point.

Fletcher's smile seemed to take on an evil smirking quality. "Have you ever heard of electroconvulsive therapy, Colonel? I believe they usually call it shock therapy in the movies. Amazing as it may seem, it's still used in cases like yours, cases of extreme depression with delusions and serious hallucinations. It's been proven quite an effective treatment for such maladies."

Panic hit John in one swift motion, making him squirm in an effort to get up. There was no way he was just lying here letting Fletcher fry his brain, even if it wasn't real. He still had no idea how this would effect him in the real world.

"Now, now, calm yourself Colonel Sheppard. It's not so bad. I've already given you a muscle relaxant and a bit of sedative. That's why you're feeling the way you do. It's actually recommended that you be asleep for the procedure, but in your case, I think a bit of consciousness might improve the results." He laughed, as if he'd just heard a really good joke. The nurse with him laughed as well, her high pitched voice grating on John's already frazzled nerves.

The drugs were apparently seriously hitting his system, because John found it almost impossible to move and was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his eyes fully open. Terror helped him keep his lids open a bit, terror and the desperate need to see what Fletcher was doing. One of the carts with a machine that looked similar to a defibrillator had been pushed up beside his bed and the nurse proceeded to attach a couple of electrodes to his head after rubbing some gel on his skin.

"We'll be sending a mild electric charge through your brain, just enough to stimulate a seizure of at least fifteen seconds. I doubt you'll actually realize much of what's happening by that point, though. I should warn you that you may have a headache later and experience some confusion and memory loss for a while, but don't worry, we'll be here to take care of you. It's recommended to give no more than two to three treatments in a week, but since you're case is so severe, we may have to be more aggressive than that."

John could feel the coil of fear within him tightening as Fletcher continued his monologue. He wanted to beg the man to stop, to promise him he'd be good from now on, but his mouth was no longer coordinated enough to form words.

Fletcher leaned over close, his breath hot on John's face. "I think we're ready now. Just remember, I warned you this would happen and you wouldn't listen. Maybe this will help motivate you to be more cooperative in the future. Either way, I'm anticipating several treatments." Straightening, he patted John on the shoulder as he nodded to the nurse behind him.

John's vision suddenly whited out as he felt a jolt hit his head and pulsate through his body. Every muscle in his body seemed to go immediately rigid to the point he felt like something should snap, just before all sounds and sensation faded completely away.

oOo

Carson looked up as Rodney stepped in the doorway. "Hey, I need to see Sheppard for a minute. Just had a quick question for him."

Motioning the man into the doorway, Carson shook his head. "Not right now, Rodney, Colonel Sheppard's asleep. His headache spiked again earlier and I had to give him something."

"Oh," Rodney said sadly, sitting down heavily in one of the chairs.

Carson stared at Rodney for several moments, contemplating their situation. "Rodney . . . do you really think you can help the Colonel?" He was a bit surprised at how much he wanted the answer to be yes.

"What's the matter, Carson, afraid I'll interfere with you and Elizabeth and Kate's plan to ship him off to Earth?" he asked bitterly.

"Rodney, that isn't fair," Carson lamented. "We don't want the Colonel to leave any more than you do, but we've got to do what's best for him. His condition keeps deteriorating and I can't help him."

"So, you really do think he's crazy."

Sighing, Carson dipped his head forward to rub just above his eyebrows with his thumb and index finger. "I think the Colonel has been forced to see and do some things that are pretty horrendous and I don't think he's come away as unscarred as he'd like us to believe. He needs help, Rodney, and what we're doing here isn't working."

Rodney sat staring at the floor for a moment before raising his eyes to meet Carson's. "What if he isn't nuts? What if there's really something happening to him, just like he says? And no one will believe him or help him. How do you think that would feel Carson?"

"Rodney, we can't dismiss the possibility that the Colonel has had a breakdown just because we don't want to believe it could happen."

Rodney shook his head. "But that doesn't mean we should just dismiss the possibility that something very real is happening to the Colonel. We've all jumped on board the Crazy Sheppard Express and no one's even looked to see if the train is riding on any kind of tracks."

"What?" Carson asked, blinking his eyes several times.

"I'm just saying-"

"Dr. Beckett!"

They both jumped up at the sound of the nurse's shrill cry, with Carson racing past Rodney before the scientist even had his feet underneath him solidly. "Oh, bloody heck," the doctor murmured as he raced toward two of his nurses trying to help a seizing John Sheppard.

oOo

John slowly became aware he was lying propped up on his side on what looked like a gurney, but he couldn't remember how or why he was there. Every command he tried to give his body was strictly ignored. A woman's hand came into view, wiping the drool leaking from the side of his mouth with a soft cloth.

"I think he's waking up. You'd better get the doctor." He thought he recognized the female voice, but he couldn't place it. What had happened to him? He could see an IV line taped to the back of his hand, but he couldn't seem to move the hand. Concentrating, he finally managed to wiggle one of his fingers.

He faded in and out for a while, sights and sounds coming and going, along with a sensation of movement. The next thing he knew he was being shifted over to his back and looking up into a face he both recognized and hated. While some ability to move was returning to his body, he was in no shape to put up any kind of a fight.

"Well, Colonel, glad you have you back awake again. I imagine you have a bit of a headache. We'll get you something for that in just a few minutes. First I need to ask you a few questions. Do you know who I am?"

John licked his lips, trying to work up enough energy to find his voice. "Doctor . . . Fletcher."

"Good, that's good. Where are you?"

Blinking sleepily, John let his head roll a bit and was surprised to see he was back in his room. "Uh . . . hop . . . hospital."

Fletcher grinned. "Close enough. Do you remember what happened?"

John's eyes were drifting closed and his mind wandering away when someone patted him firmly on the cheek. He forced his eyes open to find Fletcher looking down at him, the smile gone. "Do you remember what happened?"

Searching his scrambled mind, John had no idea. He remembered being scared and he remembered it had hurt. "No."

Fletcher tapped him on the side of the head. "Electroconvulsive therapy. We shocked your brain in the hopes it will kind of reboot it and help you get better."

"Better," John echoed, but he wasn't sure why. He tried to bring one hand up to rub some of the sleep from his eyes, but he couldn't. Lifting his head a bit, he found himself in restraints.

"Yes, I'm sorry about the restraints, but you haven't been all that cooperative so far. I have another session scheduled for tomorrow and I need to let the drugs clear from your system so we can administer the proper ones tomorrow. I was afraid you might become combative and hurt yourself, so I thought restraints were the best solution."

John felt cold hard fear settle heavy in his stomach. "Please . . . no more . . . it hurt."

Fletcher reached out and gently caressed the side of John's head. "I'm sorry, Colonel, but it's necessary. Do you remember Atlantis?"

John was confused, but he wasn't that confused. "Yes, Atlantis."

Fletcher frowned at him as he studied his patient. "We've been working on getting you to accept that Atlantis isn't real, it's a complex delusion you have come up with to escape what really happened. Do you still believe Atlantis to be real?"

John remembered them arguing about whether Atlantis was real or not and he remembered that he had concluded that Atlantis had to be real. But now he couldn't remember why he'd been so sure. Nothing seemed real at the moment. Everything seemed floaty and dreamlike.

"Colonel, answer me. Do you think Atlantis is real?"

John went with the truth, at least the truth of the moment. "Not . . . sure."

Fletcher broke out into a big grin. "See, we are making progress. Maybe after the treatment tomorrow, we can suspend any further sessions. We'll just have to see what results it brings. Would you like something to eat?"

The thought of food made John's stomach churn in rebellion. "No . . . kind of . . . nauseated."

Fletcher didn't seem surprised. "It's probably the drugs. Just sleep for now, Colonel. I'll check on you later." John closed his eyes, his mind whirling around and making him feel dizzy. He could hear the doctor telling the nurses to leave him on the gurney for the night so it would be easier to take him back tomorrow. It was then he realized that someone had apparently catheterized him so they wouldn't have to worry about getting him up to go to the bathroom. He knew that should scare him even more, but his mind just couldn't process why. He was almost glad when the world faded away again.

oOo

"He's had a seizure and I don't know why," Carson said to Elizabeth and John's team. "His fever is on the rise again and he's completely unresponsive. I've run another set of scans and I just can't find any reason for it." He looked at Rodney. "Please tell me you've found something in the Ancient data base."

Rodney frowned and bit his lip a moment before speaking. "Not directly . . . but I may have found something related. I'm hoping if I follow it, I might find something that will be more helpful."

"So you haven't found anything that can help Sheppard yet?" asked Ronon.

Sighing, Rodney rolled his eyes. "I just said that, weren't you listening? I'm working on it."

"Bottom line, Carson? What's going to happen to John?" asked Elizabeth.

Carson gave a dry chuckle as he shrugged his shoulders. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. There isn't any bottom line because I have no idea what's going to happen. I have no idea what's going on right now. With the convulsions and the continuing fever, I'm becoming more inclined to side with Rodney on this having some kind of physical cause as opposed to psychological."

"It could be both," Elizabeth quickly pointed out. "You have to admit that John has acted somewhat irrationally over the last few days."

"Aye, but in light of the fever that keeps plaguing him and the other symptoms, whatever is causing his physical problems might also be causing the psychological ones. I'm inclined to keep an open mind at this point."

"Thank you," said Rodney.

"Sheppard isn't crazy. Something is making him sick," said Ronon firmly.

Teyla gave a small nod. "I agree. John is very strong. I do not believe all of this could be in his mind. Something has happened to him and we must find a way to help him, not send him back to Earth."

Elizabeth stood, looking almost angry. "Be that as it may, we are still limited in what we can do to help him, whether this is physical or psychological or both. The _Daedalus _will be here in a little over a week. If we haven't figure out a way to help John by then, he returns to Earth with them." She stalked out, leaving a stunned silence behind her.

oOo

When John woke up, he was a lot more clear headed than he'd been in a while. He immediately knew where he was and he vaguely remembered what had happened. Pulling on his arms, he quickly rediscovered the restraints and it didn't take long to determine he wasn't getting out of them. When he tried pulling his legs up, he found his ankles were tied down as well. He had no idea what time it was, but daylight was streaming through the window and panic was beginning to settle in again. He was pretty sure he remembered Fletcher saying he had another date with shock therapy and that was one date he wanted to miss.

The door came open and John forced himself to stop struggling and lie still. Lifting his head a bit, he saw a nurse enter along with one of the burly guards.

"Good morning, Colonel, I see you're awake. I just need to change your IV bag and check your catheter. Then would you like me to get you some breakfast?"

"I'd really rather get rid of the catheter and go to the bathroom by myself." He gave her a lazy, lop-sided grin, trying to make himself look harmless and as charming as possible.

She grinned and he thought it might have worked for a second. "I'm afraid not. Dr. Fletcher was very specific that you were not allowed out of the restraints for any reason. He'll be in shortly to talk to you." She finished changing his IV bag out and then did a humiliating check of his catheter and the bag attached while the guard smirked at him. John was extremely relieved when she pulled his gown back down and the blanket back up. That was also when John realized they'd changed him to a gown at some point. He must have really been out of it.

"I'll have some breakfast brought in for you," she said as she turned and left, the guard following her out. John didn't want anything to eat, but he knew he should probably try. It would be hard to work food around the lump of fear in his throat.

Several minutes later, a man in scrubs brought a tray in and set it down on a table, making John hopeful that they would let him out of the restraints to eat. His hope died a few seconds later when Fletcher walked in. Maybe if he played his cards right, he could worm his way out of the second treatment.

"Colonel Sheppard, good morning. You look better this morning. How are you feeling?"

John chose his words carefully. "I feel pretty good I think. I'm a little hungry." _Let me out of the restraints, come on, let me out._

Fletcher gave a small, controlled smile. "I'm glad to hear that. I'm afraid we can't remove the restraints just yet, but Carl here is going to get you fixed up where you can still eat. While he's doing that, I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions. Do you remember your session yesterday?"

John winced at the reference, not trying to hide how he felt about the experience. He was hoping the honesty would help him. "Yeah, sort of." He brought his hand up to finger the spot on his forehead where one of the electrodes had been attached. "Not something I really want to do again."

Fletcher didn't react, just moved to the next question. "What do you think about Atlantis? Is it real?"

Now that John's thinking had cleared up and he didn't feel so much like his brain had been deep fried, he knew Atlantis was real, but he knew better than to say that to Fletcher. He needed a break. If he could get psycho doctor off his back for a while, maybe he could have time to think and figure a way out of this mess. But he couldn't be too obvious about it – that was the hard part.

"I . . . I'm not sure any more. It seemed so clear before, but now . . . " John tried tapping into the uncertainty he remembered from the day before. "I'm . . . maybe you've been right." He closed his eyes, partly for effect and partly to hide from Fletcher's prying gaze. He felt the doctor squeeze his shoulder.

"Very good, John. I think we're finally starting to see progress. I have a session scheduled for this afternoon and then we'll reevaluate from there. Get something to eat and then try to rest. You've had a difficult time of it."

John's eyes shot open and he looked up at a smug looking Fletcher. "But . . . can't we skip the treatment, you know, see how it goes?" he pleaded.

Fletcher smiled, almost fatherly in the way he patted John's arm. "No, I'm afraid not. We aren't where we need to be yet. I'll be back this afternoon for your second session. Try not to worry about it too much. You'll hardly feel a thing."

John spent the rest of the day trying to stifle the cold fear that threatened to send him into panic. He ate very little of his breakfast and they didn't bring him lunch, probably because of his appointment with a burst of electricity. Time seemed to pass at a painfully slow pace, making John more and more nervous and completely unable to sleep.

He was almost relieved when the nurse came in at two and added something to his IV. "Just a little something to relax you," she said before she left. A few minutes later, John felt his body letting go of some of the tension and the heavy feeling returning to his limbs. His lids grew heavy and he drifted a bit, startling awake when his gurney started moving.

Fletcher was there, looking down at him. "Easy, Colonel, it won't be long now."

The sights and sounds around him grew fuzzy for a while and then someone was rubbing something on his head. His eyes flickered open to see the same room he'd been in before. His body was uncooperative again, barely twitching when he tried to move. He grunted, wanting to beg Fletcher to stop, but he couldn't get his voice to work either.

"It's all right," said Fletcher, moving into his field of view. "We're just checking the monitors so we can keep an eye on things, make sure no problems arise. We'll be starting in a moment. I know you're anxious to get this over with." He leaned in close to John's face with a feral grin. "And then we'll see how many more sessions you require."

Straightening, Fletcher's grin went back to the fatherly look as he patted John's arm.

"Okay, doctor, he's ready."

"Let's increase the time by five seconds today, see if that will increase our results." Fletcher looked down at John. "Here we go."

John was a little surprised that he seemed more aware of the jolt of current hitting him this second time around. His muscles all seemed to contract simultaneously, held painfully rigid for what seemed like eternity as his vision once again whited out. This time he felt the shaking begin as the world faded away, but all he could think of was to hope he'd wake up somewhere else.

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

**THE CONNECTION . . . part 13**

Rodney arrived at the infirmary at the same time as Elizabeth. Giving each other a short nod, they entered and went immediately to Carson as he stood beside John's bed, watching him.

"Carson, what is it?" asked Elizabeth.

Sighing, the doctor looked at the two friends. "He's had another seizure, more severe and prolonged this time. Whatever is causing this, we need to figure it out sooner rather than later."

Pulling her lips tight, Elizabeth glanced at Rodney. "Have you made any progress on that lead in the Ancient database?"

"Not really," Rodney admitted reluctantly. "Some of the data in that part of the system is corrupted and we're having a hard time restoring it."

"Well, you'd better hurry every chance you get because the Colonel can't take much more of this. I still can't find anything in his scans or blood tests. I've never seen anything like it."

"That points to a psychological problem, right?" asked Elizabeth.

Surprised at the question, Carson shared a look with Rodney before returning his gaze to the expedition leader. "Not necessarily. The fever and seizures point more toward a physical cause. It would be highly unlikely for psychological problems to manifest themselves in this level of physical distress."

Elizabeth crossed her arms, scowling as she looked down at her second in command. "Has he been conscious at all?"

"No, I'm afraid not." And Carson had to admit that he was really beginning to worry that they might not get the Colonel through this one if they didn't solve the puzzle soon.

"Let me know if there's any change," she said coldly before walking swiftly from the infirmary.

When she was out of sight, Rodney turned back to Carson. "That was weird. You're _sure _you got rid of all the nanites."

"Absolutely sure," replied Carson. "She's probably just worried."

Frowning, Rodney glanced back at the doorway. "I've seen a worried Elizabeth and that wasn't it. I'm starting to wonder if Sheppard is somehow onto something."

"Oh, Rodney," Carson said in exasperation. "You can't honestly believe that Elizabeth is working against the Colonel. That was just his illness talking. I need to go back to searching for a possible cause to this and you should do the same."

Hesitating a moment while he stared at Sheppard's still, pale form, hooked to myriad of monitors, Rodney sighed and ran one hand through his hair. "He's not going back to Earth and we aren't going to lose him to this." Looking up at Beckett, his eyes wide and bright, he waved one finger almost in Carson's face. "You mark my words, we're going to help him beat this." In a quick whir of movement, he was gone.

Carson stood open-mouthed for a moment before looking down at his patient. "I hope you're right, Rodney."

oOo

John blinked slowly, almost afraid of where he would find himself. His body felt stiff and sore and heavy, his mind fuzzy. Looking at the walls, it took a moment for him to realize he was back in Atlantis. The relief was so overwhelming, it immediately led to an increase in his heart rate, which was audibly displayed by the heart monitor he seemed to be connected to.

"Colonel?"

Carson was walking toward his bed with that worried look he wore when things were at their worst, putting a bit of a damper on John's initial elation. He tried to respond to Carson, but ended up emitting a sound more like a low growl. His muscles still didn't feel like obeying his commands and his throat was dry and scratchy.

Carson raised the head of the bed a bit and then poured some water in a cup. He apparently knew about John's near total lack of muscle control, because he held the cup for John to drink from the bendy straw. "Better?"

John gave a small nod and cleared his throat. "How long . . . was I gone?"

Frowning at the word, choice, Carson let out a deep breath. "You've been out of it almost three days. I'm afraid you had a couple of seizures, which is why you feel like you do."

"Yeah. . . 'lector . . . vulsive therapy. It's a . . . shocker," John said dryly.

"What?" asked Carson, obviously confused.

"Nothin' . . . doc . . . 'nother . . . life." A life he wasn't anxious to return to. Minutes after waking, he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. He was terrified of going back to sleep, of ending up back in that room with Fletcher. "Rodney . . . need to talk . . . to him."

Carson finished checking John's IV and the readings on the monitors and then paused to look at John. "You need to rest, Colonel. The fever and the seizures are putting your body through its own version of hell. Rodney is busy trying to figure out what's going on so we can try to stop it . . . we all are."

"Carson . . . need this . . . to end." He might have been embarrassed at the desperation in his voice if he wasn't so afraid. John just wished things would go back to the way they were, back to normal. If it didn't soon, he was going to lose his mind.

Gripping his arm and giving it a squeeze, Carson smiled. "I know you do, lad, and I promise, we'll get you through this. Are you in any pain?"

Closing his eyes, John sighed. Carson didn't understand. No one did. They were humoring him to keep him calm while he waited on his ride to Earth. "I'm fine. Small headache."

"I can give you something for that," said the doctor.

"No! No, I don't want anything. No more drugs . . . please . . . just quit . . . drugging me."

Carson looked unsure, sending John's thoughts almost into panic. But the physician finally nodded at him. "Alright, Colonel, since you feel so strongly about it. Let me know if you change your mind."

Relieved, John felt some of the tension drain from his aching body. "Thanks."

Nodding, Carson went back to his office. It seemed to be mid-afternoon and the infirmary was almost empty. John thought about making a break for it . . . for about ten seconds. He was so weak, there was no way he was getting out of bed. He doubted he could sit up by himself. His muscles felt wobbly just picking his head up to look around the room. Carson wouldn't call Rodney for him. Nothing to do but lay and think about how he was going to get himself out of this mess.

He wasn't sure how long he lay there, fighting for all he was worth to stay awake, when he became aware of someone standing beside his bed. Snapping his eyes open, he realized he must have dozed off for a few minutes.

"Sheppard . . . you okay?"

Rubbing his eyes, John looked up at Rodney and smiled. "Rodney . . . glad to see you, buddy. You got anything yet?"

Rodney looked around the room and then pulled the chair close to John's bed and sat down. He leaned in to get as close to John as he could before speaking. "I think there's a way for the nanites to hide from the scanner."

"I didn't think that was possible," said John softly.

"Yeah, well, neither did I. But I found something in the database that suggests they were working on a way to make it happen. I'm not sure why . . . maybe to send the Wraith or other enemies with commands to shut them down or something and this way they couldn't get detected. Anyway, the data is corrupted and it's taking a while for us to straighten it out. Once we do, I'm hoping we can figure out a way around the system so we can check you again."

"And Elizabeth . . . check Elizabeth. There's something wrong with her."

Rodney scratched his head. "Yeah, about that. Carson and I have noticed that . . . well, she is acting a bit weird. But don't worry, if I get this thing up and running, we'll be checking everyone."

"Good," John said, relief filling him. For the first time in a while, he was beginning to feel hopeful. "How long?"

Rodney scrunched his face up in an expression that did not bode well. "About that . . . here's the thing . . . Radek's helping, but it's still going to take a while. I need you to hang on."

"Rodney . . . they're using . . . shock therapy . . . I really need out of here."

The scientist's face blanched. "Shock therapy? You mean where they shock your brain?"

"Yes . . . and it's not fun. _Please _help me." John knew it wasn't fair to make the man feel guilty about his situation, but he also knew Rodney worked best under pressure. He could apologize later, if he made it out of this with his brain not turning into a bowl of jelly.

"Oh, crap. Okay, well I better get back. I'll hurry, I promise. Just . . . hang on."

"I'll try," John said. Rodney was so pale, John thought for a moment he might faint, but the scientist managed to pull himself together and head back to his lab.

John occupied himself watching the infirmary personnel doing their jobs. He tried to remember each of their names and when he'd met them for the first time. Anything to keep his mind busy so he wouldn't fall asleep again. He had almost managed to relax when he saw her enter the infirmary and suddenly all the tension was back. Elizabeth was here.

He watched as she smiled when she saw him. Peering into Carson's office, her smile widened and she walked toward his bed. That probably meant Carson was busy and didn't know she was here. John instinctively pushed back against the pillows in a subconscious effort to get away from her.

"Hello, John. You're looking better."

"What do you want Elizabeth?" he asked sharply.

Softening her expression, Elizabeth stepped closer to the bed. "I'm just checking on my second in command. Are you feeling better?"

"I'm fine." He was keeping his answers short, watching her every move. If he'd had the energy, he was pretty sure he'd have bolted from the bed and possibly the room.

When she reached for his arm, he jerked it up close to his chest, shifting his body to the other side of the bed. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't touch me right now."

Elizabeth smiled very calmly. "And why is that John? Do you think I'm a replicator? Are you afraid of me? You don't need to be you know. I only want to help you." She reached out for him again. "Just keep remembering that. I only want to help you."

There was electricity in her touch and his mind screamed no, even as the wall of darkness slid over him.

oOo

There were soft shuffling sounds and light touches. When the light touches went below the beltline, John came awake with a start. He tried to yell, but the sound that came out was more like a muted grunt.

I'm sorry, Colonel Sheppard. I didn't mean to startle you. Just checking your catheter so we can be sure everything is ready."

Blinking heavily, John's eyes focused blearily on the blonde nurse smiling sweetly at him as she pulled off her rubber gloves and patted the covers back in place. "Everything looks fine."

The room came into focus, confirming his worse fears. Not only was he back in nanite hell, but he was in the small room Fletcher used for his torture treatments. There was no mistaking the drugged lethargy and weakness. He was here for another session of getting his brain fried.

The nurse finished checking all the monitors he was attached to and turned back to smile down at him again. "It looks like everything is set. Dr. Fletcher should be here any minute."

Desperation rose in John like he'd never experienced before. "No . . . please." It took every bit of concentration he possessed to get those words out and he silently pleaded for her to listen to them. Her expression changed to one of sympathy and John clung to the thin sliver of hope it provided.

"You've really had a hard time the last few days, haven't you? I know this is hard, Colonel, and you're probably feeling trapped right now, but this is for your own good. Just try to relax and let Dr. Fletcher help you." She leaned down close to his ear and her voice hardened. "I'll bet you wish you had listened to him earlier. Then you wouldn't be here, now would you?"

She stood up and fussed with his covers, the sweet expression from before firmly back in place. "You should be feeling the full effects of the drugs by now. It won't be long."

She moved out of his field of vision and John didn't seem to have the strength to turn his head and follow her. He put all his efforts into moving, but only succeeded in shifting his fingers a few inches.

"Colonel Sheppard," Fletcher boomed, moving to stand beside the bed. He was looking at John's chart, or what John presumed was his chart. "We are ready to have your final session," he said as he handed the chart to someone out of John's vision range before looking back down at the pilot. "I know you've been playing me, Colonel, and I don't like that. You've been talking in your sleep . . . to Carson and Elizabeth and Rodney. I think you've been lying to me to get your treatments stopped."

John felt someone attaching electrodes to his head and his heart began racing in earnest. Fletcher glanced at the monitor and smiled. "Nervous? You should be, Colonel. This one will be long and hard. You'll either come around to my way of thinking or . . . well, you'll come around." He patted John on the arm and glanced up at whoever had been connecting the electrodes. "We're doubling the intensity and length of the shock for Colonel Sheppard. His case is proving a bit difficult."

Listening to the shuffling noises while Fletcher smirked at him just made John's stomach clench even tighter as he waited for the inevitable. He hated waiting and knowing there was nothing he could do. He concentrated on making the hallucination end, on being back in Atlantis, but it didn't work. He would have clicked his heels together three times if he could move his legs.

When the jolt finally came, it caught him off guard. John was vaguely aware of his back arching up off the bed as it felt like every muscle in his body went impossibly rigid and his head exploded.

oOo

A high pitched whine suddenly silenced as Rodney stepped into the infirmary, stopping cold. His breath hitched and all of a sudden he felt like he couldn't breathe. Carson moved his hand from the now-silent monitor and dropped into the chair next to Sheppard's bed, leaning over to put his face in his hands. One of the nurses disconnected the ventilator from the tube emerging from John's mouth while the other patted Carson on the shoulder. Rodney passed the two nurses when he finally got his feet moving again.

Standing at the foot of the bed, Rodney couldn't tear his eyes away from the body of his friend. He was stripped to the waist, monitor wires still attached to his chest along with the orange defibrillator pads. The tube from the ventilator stuck out of his mouth, but his chest was eerily still. The pilot's arms were splayed out at his sides and his skin was the wrong color, looking ghostly in death.

"What . . . " That was all he could get out. He couldn't even form the words for a question. It was silent for several minutes before Carson spoke, his voice broken and sad.

"He had another seizure . . . the longest and most severe I think I ever remember seeing. When it finally stopped, he went into cardiac and respiratory arrest. We did everything we could . . . we worked almost an hour, but . . . there was never any response. Nothing."

The evidence of their vigil was scattered around the bed. Empty packages littered the floor and stacks of syringes filled the tray beside the bed. There was no rise and fall of John's chest, no eye movement beneath the closed lids. Even the tension lines in his face were gone, relaxed in death.

Staggering over to the nearest chair, Rodney fell into it, his muscles having liquefied at some point. The room spun and he couldn't catch his breath for a moment. When things finally settled down, he lifted his head to look at Carson. "I was coming to tell him . . . I figured out how to detect the nanites."

Carson sighed and scowled at him. "We already know how to detect nanites. You _know _that Rodney."

"No, no, they can hide sometimes . . . if they're programmed right. I thought . . . if we could find them we could get rid of them . . . and he'd get better."

Carson stared at him a moment and then looked back at John. "Well . . . I guess it doesn't matter any more, does it?"

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

**NOTE: **I am SO sorry about the delay, but it was so not my fault. I had the chapter ready to post Wednesday night and my internet connection went down. My work computer blocks everything, so I can't post from there. Nothing to do but wait til my stuff got fixed and hubby was out of town at the time. I HATE computers and I HATE knowing nothing about them. If it makes you feel better, I've ranted and raved and cried and kicked and I think I may have given myself a small stroke in there somewhere trying to make this STUPID stuff work. Did I mention that I HATE computers!! Okay, deep breath – anyway, here's the answer to some of your questions.

**THE CONNECTION...part 14**

Rodney stood, rooted to the spot, staring at Sheppard's body. So still, so pale, so lifeless. It was wrong. Beyond wrong. Sheppard wasn't supposed to die. He couldn't die. Sheppard was the man who always beat the odds. He couldn't be dead. A part of Rodney wanted to go to his friend, to grip him by the shoulders and shake him, demanding that he wake up. But he couldn't make his own body move. Couldn't stop the trembling that seized him. Couldn't stop himself from praying that this was just a bad dream and, any minute now, he would wake up in the chair by Sheppard's bed, the Colonel having shouted at him to stop snoring. He stared dumbly at the nurse as she removed the useless ventilator tube and thought again that this had to be a nightmare, that it couldn't possibly be real. He went so far as to snag the skin on his forearm between two fingers, pressing hard. It hurt but he didn't make a sound. He didn't wake up. Sheppard was really dead. In the blink of an eye he was...gone.

"Carson?" Elizabeth was panting as she ran into the infirmary, her eyes already locked on the bed in the corner. She stared at John as she skidded to a halt, eyes going wide, shaking her head. "What? No...no. He shouldn't be dead." She spoke in a whisper, as if to herself.

Carson moved to her side. "There was nothing I could do. The seizure was too severe and he was so weak to begin with." He broke off on a sob, one hand lifting to brush across his eyes, wiping away moisture that he couldn't blink away.

Elizabeth didn't appear to hear him. Instead she was moving to John's side, eyes focused only on his still form. Tentatively she reached out, fingertips brushing over his forehead. "Not like this," she whispered. "No..." She shook her head then she lifted her hands to cup his face. Closing her eyes, she went still as stone.

"Elizabeth?" Carson had moved to stand beside her, not liking the way her expression had become frozen. Then her eyes popped open and they were quicksilver for a moment before flashing back to their normal color. "What the..." Carson took a stumbling step backwards.

Rodney choked as he realized what was going on. Before he could say anything, John's chest moved as he sucked in a huge breath. Rodney felt like his heart was going to burst. He watched as color flushed the Colonel's pale features, bringing the flesh back to life.

"John!" It was Teyla who shouted his name, running towards him with Ronon just a step behind. She had almost reached him, her eyes huge in her face, when Carson intercepted.

"Don't touch them!" he warned, glancing over at Rodney.

Who nodded confirmation. "Nanites. Sheppard was right."

Teyla looked confused. "You said he was dead."

"Dead?" John echoed, as he pulled away from Elizabeth's touch. He stared at everyone, feeling confusion wash over him. He stared down at his chest, seeing leads and wires stuck to him. And then he felt it. Felt the difference. His body felt strong again, surging with strength and vitality. He looked at Rodney. "Can you fix this?"

"I'll need Radek." Rodney was already tapping his radio and talking, even as he grabbed his laptop and began typing. A moment later the quarantine doors came down.

Ronon glared at the doors then at Rodney. "What are you doing?" He looked ready to pull his gun and shoot someone.

Carson interjected with an explanation. "Everyone in this room runs the risk of exposure. Really, everyone on Atlantis who has been in contact with Dr. Weir."

"I don't think that's an issue," Rodney countered, frowning at his laptop screen. "From what I've researched and from what Sheppard has told me about what's been happening, I think the only people infected are he and Elizabeth."

"Then why did you quarantine us?" Teyla queried, as she stood rigidly in place. She still looked like she wanted to go to John.

Rodney shrugged. "Better safe than sorry."

Elizabeth had moved away from John, and isolated herself from the lot of them, standing almost in the corner. "He wants to keep me under control," she replied, her tone as neutral as her expression.

"That too," Rodney conceded.

John took the opportunity to start peeling off the leads, wincing as the pads pulled on his chest hair. He let Carson help him, then he moved to slide off the bed, surprised when he stumbled a bit.

Rodney had been watching him and answered John's unasked question. "The nanites have healed you, but they can only do so much. I don't think healing was in their original programming. It's really rather fascinating when you think about it."

Ronon didn't appear to think so. "If we stay in here, isn't it a sure thing we'll be infected too?" He looked nervous at the thought.

"I think you're safe," John replied, leaning against the bed since he still felt a bit wobbly. But at least he was better than before. That in itself was a relief. "I think these nanites will only work with me and Elizabeth." He turned to Rodney. "Can you find a way to detect them and fix this?"

"I'm working on it," Rodney replied, fingers busy typing. Then he was on his radio again, conversing with Radek.

Carson look confused and worried and weary, but he turned to John and said, "I'd like to run a scan if you don't mind."

John nodded, understanding and wanting to see if the little buggers inside him would show up now. "Let's do it." He let Carson steady him as they walked across the room, hiding a wince and swallowing a sigh as he stretched out on the scanner bed. He was still a bit weak and tired.

"You've been through hell, Colonel," Carson said, apparently picking up on things despite John's best attempts at hiding them. "We don't know how these nanites work, so don't over exert yourself. Once we get you fixed up, I have a feeling you'll have some healing to do the old-fashioned way."

"Knowing my luck, you're probably right," John allowed. He managed a smile and watched Carson move to the computer to start the scan. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Elizabeth hovering. "Why did you save me?" John asked her, deciding that point blank was the way to go.

She looked startled by the question, then shrugged. "I don't want you to die. They don't want that to happen. I...I don't want that to happen."

John sighed. "What do you want? What is the point of doing this?" He needed to know. He needed to understand what was happening so he would better be able to fight it. And looking at Elizabeth, he could see a shadow in her eyes. A sliver of doubt. His Elizabeth was still in there somewhere and John was going to fight for them both. When Elizabeth didn't reply, John closed his eyes.

He must have drifted off because suddenly Carson was there, calling his name and John tried to open his eyes and to respond, but instead he felt himself falling into cold darkness.

A heartbeat later he found himself back in Fletcherville.

OoO

Not so surprisingly, John woke up to find himself strapped down. He took a moment to get his bearings and to reassure himself that he was feeling stronger this time. Ready to face Fletcher and put up a fight. He was just about to call for a nurse when the door opened and Fletcher himself walked in.

He stopped just inside the door, staring at John, eyes wide. "You're awake, John."

"Can't put anything past you," John replied, letting sarcasm ooze from his voice.

"You've been catatonic for two days, so I'm a bit surprised to see you so alert." Fletcher moved over to the bed as he spoke. "How are you feeling?"

John realized he needed to play along for now, if he wanted to figure out how to stop this twisted version of nanite hell. So he made himself relax and let his eyes wander around the room, pretending to be surprised by what Fletcher had just told him. "Two days?" he echoed.

Fletcher nodded. "That's right. What's the last thing you remember?"

John wasn't sure how to answer that, so he went with his gut instinct. "I remember...pain."

"That would be the treatment we gave you." Fletcher was eyeing him with suspicion. "Do you know where you are, John?"

"Um...hospital." Pretending to be uncertain wasn't easy, not when he wanted to rip out of the restraints and pound Fletcher's face in. Even though Fletcher wasn't really...real.

But Fletcher was smiling and nodding. "That's right. And do you know who I am?"

John frowned, pretending to consider. "Dr. Fletcher."

"Good." Fletcher looked pleased. "Do you know why you're here, John?"

"To...to get better." John was pretty sure he was playing this the right way and that Fletcher was buying into it. After a moment he tugged on the restraints. "Did I..did I hurt anyone?"

Fletcher patted his shoulder. "Mainly yourself, John. But I think we've made a breakthrough. Do you remember Elizabeth?"

John frowned, trying not to grit his teeth as he whispered, "Who's Elizabeth?"

"Excellent!" Fletcher chortled. "I knew I could fix you, John. You're going to get better now. I'm sure of it."

"I...I hope so." John closed his eyes, willing himself not to react in anger at Fletcher's arrogance. Bastard was full of himself. Tugging on the restraints again, John asked, "Can you take these off? My wrists hurt."

Fletcher studied him a moment then nodded. "We can do that and I bet you'd like the catheter removed and to take a bath."

"Shower?" John countered, hopefully.

"A bath would be better and you'll need assistance," Fletcher replied.

Since John felt gritty and he was pretty sure he could smell himself, he didn't argue the point. Two hours later he was clean, dressed in fresh scrubs and sitting up in bed after having finished half a mug of broth. He was starting to feel closed in though and he knew he needed to get out of this room if he was going to find a way to get the hell out of this place for good. He knew Rodney was working on things on his end, but John had always known he'd have to figure his own way out of here. That this place was key to fixing everything. To fixing Elizabeth. "Could I go outside?" John asked, even as he wondered if it was even daytime here.

Fletcher was sitting in a corner chair, having watched John sipping his broth and looking like the cat that ate the canary. "I think that could be arranged," he allowed. "It's a bright and beautiful day and the fresh air and sunshine will do you good, John. But you'll be in a wheelchair and with an attendant."

"Of course," John replied, forcing himself to smile complacently. So fifteen minutes later he found himself outside with a burly guard pushing his chair. It was beautiful and warm and he lifted his face to the sun, all the while reminding himself that this wasn't real. He had to focus on getting back to Atlantis and staying there. Himself and Elizabeth nanite free. And he would find a way to do that, come hell or high water.

After ten minutes of sitting quietly in the garden, John let the blanket on his lap slide off. The attendant was quick to kneel down and grab it for him and when he leaned in to spread it over him, John kicked him in the face with all his might. The guard's head snapped back and he went down hard and lay still.

"One down," John thought, as he pushed out of the chair. He felt stronger than he had the past few visits here, which was a good thing. Nanite induced hallucination or not, it was John's reality for the moment and he had work to do. So he ran off towards the back of the building, pretty sure there was a side door he could use to sneak back in.

John had a feeling that Fletcher had the answers he needed to fix things, so it was time to start asking questions...and getting answers. Slipping back inside was easier than John had expected, and he crept up the stairwell to the third floor, where he knew the med room was. He found a lab coat and slipped it on, then he waited till it was clear and he could get into the med room where he filled a syringe with a sedative, which he then capped and slipped into his lab coat pocket. Resisting the urge to whistle a happy tune, John slithered back into the stairwell.

It was time to take back control.

**THE END...of part 14**


	15. Chapter 15

**Note: **Thanks for all the support and patience!!

**THE CONNECTION . . . Part 15**

Easing the door open, John peered down the corridor. He was a little surprised at how empty the hall was, but he wasn't above taking advantage of it. Waiting on the nurse behind the counter to turn away, he quietly slipped past her and into Fletcher's office. He'd initially been a little concerned about remembering the way, especially after having his brains so recently scrambled and apparently dying. Fortunately, he ended up in the right place.

Making his way across the room, he began opening drawers from the filing cabinet and scanning the names on the folders. He wasn't sure exactly what he was looking for, but figured he'd know it if he saw it. He was making his way through the bottom drawer when he heard Fletcher's voice outside the office. "Crap," he whispered to himself as he looked around for somewhere to hide. Spotting a closet door, he jumped up and rushed toward it, relief easing a bit of the panicked tension that had almost locked up his shoulders. John pulled the door closed, leaving an inch through which to listen, as the office door opened and voices spilled into the room. One of his large henchman accompanied the doctor.

". . . think we'll be able to get control soon?"

"Oh, yes," Fletcher replied with confidence, sitting down at his desk. "I will admit that it has taken longer than I thought. The . . . ATA gene, as they call it, has proven most problematic. We did not anticipate the enhanced ability to fight our control, much less the systematic shutdown of our systems. It would seem when we downloaded the ability to mask our existence, we unwittingly added some other things as well."

"The creators were very tricky," commented the large man blocking John's view of Fletcher.

"Yes, so it would seem. But we will overcome. Each time Dr. Weir reinfects Colonel Sheppard, we get stronger and come closer to overcoming his ability to reduce our numbers. I believe we will still be able to accomplish our goal."

"Sheppard seemed pretty compliant this time around. Maybe he's ready."

"Perhaps, although I think we should proceed carefully. I believe we have made progress, but not so much as he would have us believe."

"Some of the others are angry at you for almost killing him. If Dr. Weir had not been able to transmit more nanites so quickly, they would not have been able to revive him and the plan would have been ruined."

Fletcher snorted, sounding annoyed. "The plan would _not _have been ruined, merely made more difficult. I did not accurately assess the resistance Colonel Sheppard would give, no one did. Besides," he said smugly, the confidence returning to his voice. "Everything turned out all right and I believe we will have him in our control shortly. Speaking of which, I believe we need to take the next step. Carl took him outside for a few minutes. A small trust building activity. Make sure he's brought back to his room and I'll meet you there."

The big man chuckled as he moved away from the desk. "What do you have planned?"

The doctor reached into the side drawer of his desk and pulled out a vial with a clear liquid. "A mild hallucinogen combed with a relaxant that makes the subject more likely to take suggestions. If this doesn't work, after everything we've done to prepare him, then I believe we need to adjust our plans to proceed without use of the Colonel."

"What should we do with him then? You know he'll make trouble, try to stop us."

"I know. We'll just have to kill him. Now go find Carl and help him get the Colonel to his room. I'll meet you there."

"It'll be my pleasure." The door opened and closed a moment later, leaving Fletcher in the office by himself. John was suddenly very happy he'd taken advantage of the opportunity to escape. The events going on in this world might not be real, but he knew firsthand they could still kill him. Fletcher turned toward his computer, his back to John. This was going to be too easy, which made John nervous that he was walking into a trap. He didn't have much choice. Fingering the syringe in his pocket, he slipped out of the closet and slowly moved up behind Fletcher, placing the needle up to the side of the physician's throat.

"I'd be really still if I were you."

Fletcher froze, easing John's mind about the potential trap. "You continue to surprise me, Colonel Sheppard."

"I'm like that," John replied. "Why don't you tell me what this big plan of yours is?"

"My only plan is to help you through this difficult time. I've told you that."

Pushing the needle until it pricked the skin of the man's neck, John made a low growling sound. "You can stop that right now. I know who you are and nothing you do to me will change that. I'll fight you as long as there's a breath left in me. You have to know that by now. Just answer the question or you die now."

The doctor sighed quietly and then gave a tiny nod. "I doubt it matters at this point. You are obviously still resisting our ability to control you, quite successfully I might add. As you may have surmised, the gene you have in common with the creators has allowed you to fight us off much better than Dr. Weir. We did not anticipate that."

"Yeah, well, in spite of your opinion otherwise, you guys apparently don't know everything. Why are you trying to take over me and Elizabeth?"

The doctor laughed and John found it annoying, so he jabbed the needle in a little further until the laughter died down. "To take over Atlantis, of course. Oh, I realize that is just two of you, but as the two people in charge, we could do a lot of damage and alert the rest of our people to your location and defense capabilities in short order. Your people would be reluctant to hurt or kill you, which would give us an advantage, at least for a while. It should be enough to allow our takeover of the city."

"Well, it's not going to happen. Your plan didn't work."

"Maybe not," said Fletcher, "but we can adjust and still be successful. You just won't be around to see it. Too bad."

"How did you manage to hide from our sensors and stick around after we got rid of the others?"

"While in Dr. Weir's body, we had her searching the database for anything we could use. She did not realize, of course, that we were in control. When we stumbled on the data about avoiding the scanners, we downloaded it. Unfortunately, we were discovered a short time later and only a few of us had time to incorporate the new programming effectively. We had to become dormant to increase the chances of not being discovered and that allowed us to not be targeted when the others were destroyed."

"Then she passed you on to me," John filled in.

"Yes, once we had full control of her. Now, I'm afraid that you must die and that Dr. Weir will have to be enough."

"I don't think so," John said firmly. "You may have noticed that this time I'm the one holding the syringe, not you."

"You want to kill me," Fletcher whispered. "Don't you, John?"

He couldn't argue against the comment because it was true. Fletcher had put him through hell, coming close to killing him and even closer to making him lose his mind. Even now, he was reminding himself that Fletcher wasn't real and that it wouldn't matter if he killed him.

"Kill me, John. Go ahead. It won't make any difference."

Tensing his hold on the man's shoulder, he suddenly jerked the syringe back and then plunged it into the man's shoulder, injecting the sedative. Fletcher tried to jerk away, but John held him down until the man began to slump sideways as he gave into the drug. Lowering the man to the floor, John threw the syringe across the room.

"Sweet dreams, Fletcher. I have something else in mind for you." John didn't really have any idea where he should go next, but he headed for the door anyway. Throwing it open, he flinched when the burly guard from before took up all of his exit. He was about to throw himself at the huge man when he saw what the orderly was holding. He never had liked tasers.

oOo

A touch to his shoulder had John jerking reflexively. "Easy does it, lad. You're all right."

Opening his eyes, John was surprised to find himself in Atlantis. He'd expected to wake up at the hospital with nothing good happening to him. "Carson?" he said hopefully, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

"Aye, it's me. And you're safe, here in Atlantis."

As the doctor came into focus, John relaxed back into the pillows. "Oh, thank God," he whispered, feeling the tension wind down as he waited for his heart to slow. Remembering what he'd learned, he snapped his head up. "Elizabeth?"

"It's all right. She's sedated for the moment," Carson said, nodding to a bed at the far side of the infirmary. Obviously they had tried to keep the two of them far apart.

John nodded, letting his head fall back on the pillow. "I need to see Rodney." When Carson didn't move, John looked up into the doctor's face and saw doubt there. "Carson, look, I know you don't know if you should trust me or not and I'm not going to tell you that you should. But if you want to fix this before it's too late, I have to talk to Rodney."

Nodding, Carson turned away. "I'll get him. He's just in the other room." Carson disappeared farther back into the infirmary and John turned his head back to look at Elizabeth. She was in restraints, an IV running to her hand. He guessed that made keeping her under a little easier.

"How are you, John?" He looked up to see Teyla smiling down at him, Ronon standing behind her and looking worried.

"Been better," he admitted. "You guys holding up okay?"

"It's frustrating," said Ronon. "There is nothing we can do and you know I don't play the waiting game well."

"I know," John said with a small nod. "Neither do I. That may be about to change, though." Hearing a certain scientist fuss and complain as he approached made John smile in spite of the seriousness of the situation.

". . . how I'm supposed to fix everything when people keep interrupting me every time I start to get somewhere. Why can't you just tell me what's so darn impor . . . oh, Colonel, you're awake."

"_That's _what I've been telling you, Rodney," said Carson in exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes and muttered to himself.

"Yes, well, you could have been a bit clearer. So, Colonel, do you plan on staying with us long enough to help this time?"

"I have no idea, Rodney. But I learned something and I have an idea. The nanites in Elizabeth found the program that allows them to avoid detection by the scanners and downloaded it from the database, apparently before she collapsed. A few of them were able to add it to their programming and that's how they've been able to evade the scanners. It seems the ATA gene is what has allowed me to fight off their control so far."

"Just not strong enough to avoid these rather disturbing hallucinations you've been having."

Grimacing, John nodded. "Yeah, apparently. Anyway, it also . . . I don't know . . . I think it shuts them down. But before I can get them all, Elizabeth has been reinfecting me."

Swiveling his head around, Rodney stared at Elizabeth's sleeping form for a moment before turning back to John. "So now that she can't do that, you'll be able to get rid of all of them."

Taking a deep breath, John rolled his lip in for a second. "I'm not sure. I think they've been trying to override the programming that kills them. They aren't there yet, but I got the impression they're getting close. I need to shut them down quickly and I have an idea on how to do it – increased ATA activity."

Rodney's eyes widened. "The chair?"

Nodding, John smiled at his friend. "The chair. I figure connecting to Atlantis through the control chair has got to be the most active use of the gene possible. That might be enough to wipe out what's left."

Rodney was nodding and John could almost see the wheels turning in his head. "That just might work. And then maybe you could quit wandering off to your other life, leaving us here trying to figure out if you've lost your mind or not. I have to tell you, Colonel, it's very disquieting."

With a sour expression, John nodded. "You should try living it sometime, McKay. Then we can talk disquieting." He shuddered involuntarily.

"Now we just have to talk Carson into letting you do it," said Rodney as the two men turned their attention to the physician returning from checking his other patient. His eyes immediately widened, followed by a frown.

"Talk me into what?" Carson asked suspiciously.

"I need to activate the chair to get rid of the nanites in my system," said John.

"Activating the ATA gene appears to destroy them and he needs a big boost pretty fast," explained Rodney.

"We can accompany them to the chair room," offered Teyla, with Ronon nodding behind her.

Looking over his shoulder at Elizabeth before turning back to John, Carson frowned deeply, but nodded. "Aye, we can do it. I'll get Dr. Keller to stay with Elizabeth and Teyla, I'd appreciate it if you'd stay as well. I don't anticipate her regaining consciousness, but in the event she does, she responds well to you."

Teyla gave a brief nod. "I would be happy to assist wherever I am needed."

"I know you will, lass," Carson responded with a smile. "I'll just call Jennifer and get a kit. Ronon, you can assist the Colonel into a wheelchair if you will."

"Wheelchair?" John said, pushing himself up to his elbows.

"Yes, Colonel, I said wheelchair," Carson said firmly. "And that is the _only _way you'll be leavin' my infirmary. Take it or leave it."

John sighed and eased himself back against the pillows. "Wheelchair it is."

"Quit whining, Colonel. We'll get there a lot faster than if we had to wait on you to stagger down the hallways," said Rodney. "Let me grab my computer."

John begrudgingly allowed Ronon to help him into a wheelchair. By the time he was settled, he knew he would never have made it on foot, not that he planned on admitting that out loud. Carson filled Jennifer Keller in the current situation while Teyla wished him good luck

Rodney returned with a hand-held scanner, which he moved over John's body. Frowning, the pilot watched. "Rodney, what are you doing?"

"Scanning you for nanites. I reprogrammed this scanner using the information in the Ancient database and it seems to be working." He turned the screen towards John. There was a human outline with a multitude of red dots in the head, as well as a few scattered around the torso. "You, dear Colonel, are infected with nanites."

"That's what I've been trying to tell everyone," John said wryly. He'd known that was going on, but it was still unsettling to see verified on a screen. A shiver ran down his spine. "How about we go get rid of them."

"That's the plan. I called ahead and had Lorne clear the hallways of personnel so we don't take any chances of this spreading. Let's go." Ronon pushed the wheelchair toward the door, with the others following close behind.

When they arrived in the chair room, Ronon once again aided John in changing positions, helping him into the control chair while Rodney hooked up his computer.

"Hey, Rodney . . . am I endangering Atlantis doing this?" asked John, suddenly wondering if the nanites might infect the city from his connection. While he wanted the things out of him, he wasn't willing to endanger the city or its inhabitants just to save himself.

"No, already considered that. They might try, but they won't make it very far. Different operating systems. It would be like a parasite getting into the wrong host." Rodney hit a few more buttons on his laptop and then looked up at John. "Okay, ready when you are."

"Colonel," said Carson. "If it feels wrong, if . . . " The doctor scrubbed his head with his hand. "I don't bloody well know what I'm tryin' to say. If something feels off, get out as quickly as you can."

"What he said," Ronon echoed.

John smiled and gave his friends a nod. "I will, but I really think this will work, guys. Just be patient with me for a few minutes because I don't think it will be immediate." At their nod, he connected to Atlantis and felt the chair beneath him recline. Closing his eyes, he felt the familiar thrum of energy beneath him and beginning to surge through him. It was comfortable at first, typical of his other connections to her.

The instant Atlantis contacted the nanites, John knew. He felt her recoil, her revolt and distaste, as if coming across some dirty parasite. Concentrating, he tried to convey to her his desire to rid himself of them, of the pain they were causing. And then he was deeper inside her than he'd ever been, but he could feel her inside him as well. Fire burned in his head and in his veins. It hurt, but it was almost comforting, because he knew she was rooting them out and destroying them. He could hear voices, but he couldn't focus on them because it took all his concentration not to get completely lost in Atlantis. For the first time, he was aware that if he lost his hold while they were this connected, he might never find his way out.

"Colonel!"

The voice was suddenly loud and clear, making him aware that the fire was gone, along with Atlantis. John opened his eyes to see Carson hovering worriedly while Rodney ran the scanner over him.

"Nanite free, Colonel."

John licked his lips and tried to find his voice. He felt a little like that fire might have made it up his throat as well. "Are you sure?" he rasped.

Turning the device off, Rodney nodded. "Scanned you three times just to be sure. You're clean. Well, in the nanite sense, not in the _you don't need a shower _sense, because I'm thinking the sooner you hit the soap and water the better."

"McKay!" Ronon growled. "That's not important right now."

"I know," Rodney said defensively. "I was just saying."

"Well, don't," said Carson. "Now, Colonel, how do you feel? Your pulse is racing and you seemed to be in pain when you were connected to Atlantis."

"Hurt a little," John admitted. "But not any more. Just feel kind of shaky and a bit of headache. I'm okay." He began moving to sit up, only to have Carson push him back against the chair.

"Just take it easy a moment, son. You've been through a lot lately and you aren't fully recovered from any of it. I believe that just took another bit out of you, to boot. Rest a moment and then we'll move you back to the wheelchair so we can get you to the infirmary."

John looked at Rodney. "What about Elizabeth? They're still in her."

"I know," said Rodney. "And you can't get anywhere near her or you'll just be infected again. I'm still working on the information in the database to see if there's a way to kill this new breed of nanites without harming her."

"We need to do it quick," said John. He swallowed and rubbed his forehead against the building headache. "They wanted to take over Atlantis and they were going to use us to do it. Once they figured out they couldn't control me, they said they were going to kill me. I'm afraid if they figure out we've completely thwarted their plan, they'll kill Elizabeth."

"Oh, great," Rodney muttered. "Another ticking clock deadline. Why do you always do this to me?"

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

**NOTE: **Okay, I admit it, we stretched things a bit. The nanites are smarter than they should be and they are just infecting certain people due to their purpose and programming. For those of you who cannot accept our manipulation and go on, I apologize. If I remember correctly, the show does stuff like that all the time to fit their storyline, but hey, maybe that's just me. Remember – this is for fun and we DON'T get paid for this, so I think we're allowed a few "mistakes" on the _is-this-possible _front. Yes, I'm making lame excuses – is it working??

**THE CONNECTION...part 16**

As Ronon pushed John down the hallway, back towards the infirmary, another thought occurred to him. "Rodney, what about everyone else? Did I infect anyone?" He was thinking of Carson in particular, since the good Doc had been in physical contact with him all along.

"We're all nanite free, Colonel," Rodney replied. "I scanned all of us while you were in the chair."

Relief washed over John in a giant wave that left him feeling a bit limp. "Thank God." It was heartfelt.

Rodney was nodding. "Yeah. But that still doesn't help us with Elizabeth." He flapped a hand to stop anyone from responding. "I'm going to my lab to hook up with Zelenka and see what we can do." Turning on his heel, he strode off.

John said nothing more until they reached the infirmary. Ronon pushed him over to his bed, but he wasn't ready to get in it yet. He put a hand on Carson's arm when the Doc bent to put the brakes on the chair. "I really want a shower," John said, plaintively.

"You're worn out," Carson countered. "Maybe after you've rested.

"I'll rest better in clean scrubs with clean sheets," John replied, because he felt achy and sweaty and just complete itchy and blah. He knew he would feel better after a shower.

Carson studied him a moment, looking like he was going to refuse, but then he nodded. "All right, Colonel. I'll allow it. But Ronon goes with you. Just to play it safe."

John could live with that. Besides which, he was honest enough with himself to know that he wasn't steady on his feet. "Thanks," he whispered.

"No problem." Carson patted his shoulder. "You go off with Ronon and I'll have the linens changed and grab fresh scrubs. I'll also send for some soup. You need to eat to get your strength back up."

"Sounds like a plan." John actually did feel a bit hungry. Tilting his head back, he looked up at Ronon. "Ready, big guy?" His reply was to be pushed towards the bathroom in the back. Then Ronon was helping him out of the chair and into the bathroom. John stopped him at the doorway. "You don't have to come in. I'll call if I need you." At which point his knees promptly buckled, proving that he needed help right now.

Ronon didn't say a word. He just gripped John by the arm and helped him over to the shower stall. It wasn't the first time he'd helped in this capacity and they both could guess it wouldn't be the last time. So neither spoke as Ronon helped John to strip and step into the hot spray of water.

John was able to support himself with one hand on the wall. He just simply stood under the water for a long moment, letting the heat soak into his skin. After a time he reached for the soap and managed to stay upright long enough to wash his hair and rinse the soap suds off his body. It was close enough to scrubbing. Then Ronon was there with a towel and the next few minutes were hazy. Without remembering how he got there, John found himself being settled back into bed.

Carson was holding a mug of what smelled like chicken soup. "Do you feel up to taking a few sips, Colonel?" he queried. "It will do you a world of good."

"Sure," John mumbled, because it took too much effort to talk any louder. All he really wanted to do right now was sleep. But he took the mug in both hands and managed a few swallows before he started listing. Ronon grabbed the mug and John let his eyes close. The next then he knew he was spiraling into darkness.

OoO

He came awake to Rodney's voice, loud and impatient.

"...it's worth a try, don't you think? It's just a full body x-ray, more or less."

"It's a lot of radiation at the level you're talking about," Carson replied. "I don't like it. Especially since you're telling me it might not even work."

There was a long pause before Rodney responded. "We've run out of ideas," he confessed, sounding glum. "Anything that will definitely kill the nanites will definitely kill Elizabeth."

That comment snapped John back to full consciousness. "McKay!" he called out. And a moment later both Rodney and Carson were at his side.

"How are you feeling, Colonel?" Carson asked, ever in doctor mode.

"Better," John replied, because he did feel a bit less tired and achy. "I heard you say something about trying radiation on Elizabeth." He was looking at Rodney as he spoke.

McKay shrugged. "It's something to try, but I'm not positive it'll work. To be honest, I think it might just neutralize them for a time."

John didn't like the sound of that. "What about using the chair?" He had had a dream about being in the chair and connecting to Atlantis to eradicate the nanites in Elizabeth. He knew it was just a dream, but Atlantis had gotten rid of the nanites in him, so it seemed worth a shot.

"She doesn't have the gene," Rodney reminded him.

"I meant me in the chair," John explained.

Rodney frowned at him. "How would that work?"

It sucked to have to admit he didn't know. "I have no idea, but there has to be a way." John was feeling desperate. "Otherwise Elizabeth ends up trapped in isolation forever." And that wasn't even an option in John's book.

"We have to do something soon," Carson interjected, his tone quiet and sadness shining in his eyes as he spoke. "I checked on her just a few minutes ago and she's not doing well. I'm guessing that the nanites are wearing her down since they no longer have you as a host, Colonel. She was screaming and pounding on the isolation chamber, wanting to be let out. She doesn't look well."

"What about trying the radiation to see if it does neutralize the nanites, to give me a chance to see if Sheppard's idea will work?" Rodney asked, looking as worried as John felt.

Carson didn't look happy at the thought, but he didn't say no. "I suppose it's worth a try. We'll have to radiate the isolation chamber. We can't risk letting her out."

Rodney was on his laptop, tapping away. "I can flood the chamber, that's not a problem, but the sooner the better."

"The nanites are desperate," John allowed. A part of him wished he could go back into the hallucination and beat the crap out of Fletcher. He wanted, needed, to do something to help Elizabeth. Feeling helpless really sucked.

"Do it then," Carson told Rodney. "Just give me a few minutes to check on the Colonel, then I'll go with you."

Rodney nodded. "That's fine. I have to set things up anyway. Just tell me when you're ready." With that he walked off, laptop tucked under his arm and muttering to himself.

John shifted against the pillows, fingers lifting to rub at his temples. He did feel better, but he couldn't seem to shake the ever present headache. "When can I get out of here, Doc?" he asked, not noticing the way Carson was watching him with worry etched on his features.

"You'll be my guest for a while, Colonel. You've been through hell and back, lad." Carson reached for John's wrist and took his pulse. He then followed up with John's blood pressure, checked his heart and lungs, took his temp and finished with the dreaded pen light to the eyes. "How bad's the headache?" Carson queried, as he tucked the penlight back in his labcoat pocket.

"Irritating," John conceded, because he really did want some Tylenol and there was no sense in lying about the obvious.

Carson patted his shoulder. "I can give you something for that, then I want you to try and eat something."

Nausea was coiling in his stomach, but John knew he had to eat. He figured he was probably over hungry at this point, and stress wasn't helping him any either. "Fine. But I really do want out of here, ASAP. I can rest in my room."

"You're not leaving, Colonel. Not for a while." Carson's tone brooked no argument. "I'm going to hook you up to an IV and get some fluids and vitamins in you. I also want to keep an eye on your blood pressure and see what we can do to get you back on solid foods. Plus that headache of yours has me a bit worried. Those nanites put your body through the wringer, Colonel. It's going to take a few days to get you back on track."

'I know that, but I hate being in here. I've been in here forever," John whined, and he didn't care that he was out right whining.

Carson chuckled, eyes twinkling a bit. "It does seem as if you've been here for quite a time," he allowed. "So a few more days won't hurt. I'm just looking out for your well being, son. You know that."

John did know that, but it didn't make him like being in the infirmary any better. "I'm just tired of being tired."

"Now that you're nanite free, it'll get better," Carson promised. "Just be patient."

"Easier said than done." John sighed then shifted again, trying to get comfortable. His muscles ached from all the abuse his body had been through. Hallucinations or not, they had manifested themselves as true physical distress.

Carson nodded in understanding. "Try and rest. I'll be back with breakfast."

John started to close his eyes but called out, "Can I see Elizabeth after I eat?" He knew, first hand, what she was going through and he didn't want her to suffer alone. The feeling of being isolated was the worst thing about it. Once Rodney had believed him, John had garnered strength from knowing he was no longer fighting the battle alone. He would try to give Elizabeth what support and comfort that he could.

"We'll see how you're feeling," Carson replied. "Now rest. I'll be back soon."

"Right," John mumbled, before closing his eyes and drifting off.

OoO

His resting turned into a three hour nap. The first thing John did upon waking was ask about Elizabeth and if they did the radiation. Which they had and Elizabeth was now unconscious. John wanted to see her but Carson was adamant he eat lunch first. But first he made a bathroom run with Ronon's help. It pissed John off to realize how weak he really was so he made an attempt to eat as much as he could. He ended up giving up about halfway through a bowl of soup and half a slice of toast. His body just wasn't ready, or willing, to accept more. Carson then wanted him to sleep some more, but John demanded to see Elizabeth and he didn't give up until Ronon was pushing him to the isolation chamber.

It was scary to see Elizabeth lying so still on the narrow bed. She looked pale and lifeless, but Carson assured him she was breathing.

"What about the nanites?" John asked. "Are they neutralized?"

"For now," Carson allowed. "But Rodney believes we have maybe a few more hours before they wake up."

John cursed. "So I need to get in the chair now." He was ready to head to the chair room right this minute.

Carson gripped his shoulder. "Rodney thinks your idea might work and he said he'll contact me as soon as he's ready for you to try it."

"He's ready," came a voice from behind them.

John turned to see Rodney striding towards them, looking grim. "Is it going to work?"

Rodney stopped beside John, eyes latched on Elizabeth's form in the chamber. "I hope so. If it doesn't...I'm out of ideas. There's nothing we can try that won't kill her along with the nanites."

"So when do we try?" John was ready to get this over with.

"Now sound good?" Rodney locked eyes with John and there was worry and concern in his blue gaze.

John nodded. "Sounds good to me." He looked at Carson and said, "I'm doing this." He knew it was Elizabeth's only chance and no one was going to stop him. To John's relief, Carson simply nodded.

"Give me a few minutes to collect some things," Carson stated. "I'm going to monitor you in the chair."

"What about Elizabeth?" John protested.

"She'll be monitored closely as well," Carson promised. "There are other doctors here, Colonel. I trust them to take care of her." With that he strode off.

John looked at Ronon. "I could use a push to the chair room."

Ronon nodded and started pushing.

Rodney fell into step beside them. "I'll contact Teyla and let her know what's happening. Meet you at the room."

"Tell her to stay with Elizabeth," John called after him. He didn't want Elizabeth to be alone with just strangers. She needed a friend to be there when she woke up. Because she was damn well going to wake up, if John had anything to say about it. Although he felt a bit shaky to realize that her fate was now in his hands. He had to make this work.

Next thing he knew they were in the chair room. John pushed out of the wheelchair and headed for the Ancient chair. He felt Ronon's hand on his arm, steadying him. Then he was sitting down and the chair powered up. John felt Atlantis reach out to him and he connected with her easily, explaining to her what he needed to have happen. He was pretty sure she understood, which was a bit freaky. This connection felt deep and intense, making him shake a little.

"How are you feeling, Colonel?"

John realized Carson was there and talking to him. "Fine," he replied. "Are we ready?" He opened his eyes and looked for McKay.

Rodney was on the other side of the chair, his eyes locked on his laptop which he had hooked up to the base of the chair. "Ready as we're going to be on my end. What happens next is up to you, Colonel. Good luck." Rodney looked determined and scared to death.

"Thanks," John drawled, knowing exactly how McKay felt. He had never been so terrified in his life, but at the same time he felt a bit exhilarated. At least now he was doing something to help Elizabeth. Taking a deep breath, John exhaled slowly then closed his eyes. With each beat of his heart he felt himself slipping deeper into Atlantis until he could feel power vibrating through him. Let's do this, he whispered to her.

Then his world flashed into white.

TH**E END...of part 16**


	17. Chapter 17

**THE CONNECTION . . . Part 17**

"Rodney, can you tell what's going on?" asked Carson as he backed away from John, his expression filled with worry. "His pulse is racing and he doesn't even seem to know we're here." The pilot was pale, his mouth slightly open as he took in rapid, shallow breaths.

Hunching over his computer, Rodney was silent for several moments before standing and walking over to join the physician at John's side. "Not really. I can tell he's interacting with her, but neither one of them seems to be in the mood to share what they're doing." He stared at the colonel for several quiet minutes. "Is he okay?"

Shrugging his shoulders as he lifted his arms at his sides, Carson shook his head a couple of times. "I have no way of knowing, but I'm becoming concerned. Can we stop this? I'm beginning to worry the Colonel wasn't up to this." And he was silently kicking himself for agreeing to this little experiment in the first place. He jumped when his com beeped.

"_Dr. Beckett, I thought you should know that something's happening. The isolation chamber . . . well, it just began glowing . . . kind of a green color."_

Carson glanced at Rodney to make sure he was picking up the transmission. The look on his face before he raced back to his computer verified that he was. "Jennifer, can you tell what's happening to Elizabeth? Does she seem distressed in any way?" Carson noticed for the first time the deep frown on John's face, as if he was concentrating on something that was very difficult to do.

"_I don't know . . . we can't see anything but the green glow. Do you want me to . . . wait . . . hold on Carson, it's dissipating."_

John's face relaxed and his head lolled slightly to one side as the chair dimmed. "What's happening?" Carson asked anxiously.

"_The light's gone. We're going in to check on Dr. Weir right now. I'll contact you in a minute."_

As the chair went completely dark, Carson stepped forward to check John's pulse again. He felt the pilot's heartbeat racing weakly beneath his fingertips. Hazel eyes fluttered open to look up at him. "Liz . . . beth?"

Placing one hand on the weak man's shoulder, Carson squeezed in an effort to seem reassuring. "I'm not sure yet, lad. Something happened, we're just not sure what yet."

"The isolation chamber was flooded with . . . " Rodney trailed off as he typed furiously, mumbling to himself for a moment. "Okay, I have no idea what it was flooded with . . . some kind of radiation, but not like . . . not like anything I've ever encountered. Zelenka and I will have to analyze this."

"_Dr. Beckett, we just scanned Dr. Weir with the scanner Dr. McKay left and she's nanite free. We checked her twice to be sure."_

Carson let out a deep breath, feeling like a large weight had just been lifted. "What about her vital signs?" he asked, giving a nod to John.

"_Pulse is a little fast and blood pressure a little high, but nothing dangerous. She's still unconscious, but she seems stable enough. Do you want me to move her?"_

Automatically shaking his head, Carson replied. "No, we'll be coming back in just a moment and then we'll assess her condition and decide how to proceed. Stay with her."

"_I will. How's Colonel Sheppard?"_

"As soon as I figure that out, we'll be heading your way." Carson looked down at John, who seemed to be struggling to keep his eyes open. "It worked, Colonel. Jennifer tells me they've scanned Elizabeth twice and there are no signs of nanites. Whatever you did worked."

Closing his eyes, John gave a tiny nod. "Not me . . . 'lantis."

"Aye, but I'm sure you were directing it. I need to know how you feel. Are you in any pain? Dizzy? Any nausea?" Carson fired out the questions rapidly, not waiting for a reply in between. When John didn't respond, he gripped his arm firmly, giving it a squeeze. "Colonel, can you hear me?"

"Hmm?" John's eyes began fluttering again, finally settling in a half open position. "Head hurts . . . goin' to sleep," he slurred as his eyes slid closed again.

"No, no," Carson protested, patting John on the side of the face until the pilot groaned and opened his eyes to scowl at him. "Not yet, Colonel. We need to get you to the infirmary."

"'fimry," John echoed.

Carson turned to Ronon, who had been standing silent guard at the edge of the room, his body tense and his expression filled with concern. "Ronon, bring the wheelchair over here and help me get him transferred. Then do you think you can get him back to the infirmary?"

Grunting, the big man pushed the chair over to where the physician stood. "Don't worry, Doc, I'll get him there."

"Just don't dump him in the floor," advised Rodney, moving to join them. "He doesn't exactly look capable of sitting up right now."

John's head shifted back a little and his eyes opened again. "I'm ca'ble," he whispered insistently as he tried to push himself out of the chair. Ronon and Carson quickly grabbed an arm each to prevent the pilot from landing in the floor and eased him into the wheelchair. He immediately listed to the right, but Ronon placed a hand on his shoulder, gently righting the semi-conscious colonel.

"Yes, we can see just how capable you are," quipped Rodney. "But since it looks like you fixed Elizabeth, we'll let it pass this time."

John lifted his head from where his chin had drooped almost to his chest. "Huh? What's gonna pass?"

Rolling his eyes, Rodney waved his hand toward the door. "Get him out of here," he said.

"We were planning to, Rodney," countered Carson. He didn't like how disoriented the Colonel seemed to be and was anxious to get his patient under the scanner. "Ronon, would you mind pushing the Colonel to the infirmary for me?"

"Better keep one hand on his shoulder or he'll plop out on the floor," advised Rodney.

"I'll get him back," said Ronon, giving the physicist a pointed glare before pushing the wheelchair out of the room.

oOo

The ride back was a bit hazy to John. He jerked awake to Ronon shifting him back up in the chair from where he had slid sideways. "Uh, I'm 'wake," he slurred, blinking to clear his eyes as he focused on the hallway. He wasn't sure where they were exactly, but the moving walls were making him dizzy, which not only didn't help his headache, but was making him slightly nauseous. He closed his eyes to shut out the movement, only to doze off and wake when Ronon pushed him upright again. The cycle repeated several times before they got to the infirmary.

When the wheelchair came to a halt, John had been dozing again and only Ronon's quick hand to his arm kept inertia from keeping him moving forward and out of the chair. "What?" he asked as he snapped awake again.

"We're in the infirmary," said Ronon between chuckles.

When his mind finally caught up to what was going on, John immediately began trying to push himself up out of the wheelchair. "Elizabeth!"

A firm hand on his shoulder kept him from standing. He twisted around to see Carson standing behind him, keeping him firmly pinned. "Colonel, you need to calm down, lad. I'm going to check on her right now. You can help by letting Ronon and Kelly get you settled back in your bed. I promise to come talk to you as soon as we're done."

Relaxing back into the chair, John sighed and scrubbed one hand across his face. "Yeah . . . okay . . . just really . . . worried about her."

"I know you are, as we all are. I can work faster if you aren't in the way though." Glancing up at Ronon, Carson motioned toward John. "Help Kelly get him to bed, if you don't mind and I'll be back to fill you in as soon as I can."

"Don't worry, we'll take care of him," the Satedan replied, glancing up as Teyla entered the room.

"I'm sittin' right here and I can put myssself to . . . " John waved toward the bed, his thought leaving him for a moment before he could focus on what he'd been saying. ". . . to . . . to bed," he finally finished. His inability to focus for more than a few seconds was beginning to scare him.

"And as soon as we have Elizabeth taken care of, I want a scan on you," added Carson, the concern in his eyes mirroring what John was feeling.

"I'm fine," John said automatically, almost cringing at himself when he realized how obvious it was that he wasn't. "Sorry . . . habit."

He felt a little better when Carson laughed as he squeezed his shoulder. "It's alright, Colonel. It's what I expect any more. I've about given up trying to change you, I just know to never believe you."

When Ronon chuckled out loud, John glared at him. "Laugh it up, furball."

"He only wishes for you to be more truthful about your pain so that they can properly help you," said Teyla with a knowing smile.

"Go ahead, Doc, we got it," said Ronon, undisturbed by John's comment. Kelly arrived with a smile, prompting Carson to turn over the care of his current patient so he could proceed to the next one.

"All right, Colonel, let's get you into bed," Kelly said, nodding at Ronon that she was ready.

John was all right until they got him to his feet. The moment he was vertical, the light headache he'd had suddenly tripled in intensity and his legs got weak and rubbery. His weight shifted and he felt the grip around his biceps tighten as the world began to swim. There was shuffling and touches and the sense of moving and then he was flat on his back looking at the ceiling.

"Sheppard?" a deep voice rumbled.

John blinked a few times as Kelly's face leaned into his field of view. "You look like Kelly . . . but sound like Ronon."

Grinning, Kelly began to wrap a blood pressure cuff around his arm. "Silly. I thought we'd lost you there for a minute." She studied the reading as she let the air out of the cuff. "Pressure's a bit low. Might be why you fainted."

John lifted his head an inch off the pillow, scowling at the nurse. "I did _not_ faint. I just got dizzy for a minute."

"So you're admitting to dizziness," she said, writing on his chart.

Letting his head fall back on the pillow, John sighed and brought his hand up to rub the side of his head. He wasn't sure what had just happened, but his head felt too foggy to try to figure it out. "This isn't fair. My head hurts." He was vaguely aware of how childish that sounded, but he didn't' care at the moment.

"Headache," Kelly drawled as she continued to write on the chart.

John closed his eyes, hoping it would help the vertigo that kept making him feel like the room was twisting to one side. Ronon and Kelly were talking, but their voices ran together after a few minutes and became white noise along with all the other sounds of the infirmary. John felt like he was drifting for a while, until he was suddenly in Fletcher's office with the doctor sitting behind his desk wearing a smug grin.

Fear gripped the colonel as he told himself that it wasn't real. The thought of being trapped here, real or not, left him shaking. But then Fletcher's face morphed into the burly guard who had tasered him, followed a moment later by that of a Wraith.

"Colonel Sheppard, you're dreaming, you need to wake up."

Jerking up off the pillow, John startled at Kelly's close proximity as she leaned over him. Quickly pushing back down to the bed, he grunted a little at all the motion.

"I guess that means he still has the headache," said Carson.

John turned his head to look at the doctor, but he did so slowly and carefully, having learned his lesson the hard way. "Carson . . . Elizabeth?"

Carson stepped to one side, allowing John a view of the bed next to his. Elizabeth was there, unconscious and pale, but no longer in isolation. "The nanites . . . "

"Gone," assured the doctor. "Rodney double checked both of you in case we missed anything." Carson sighed and shook his head. "He doesn't seem to think us capable of following instructions."

John had to smile at that. "Don't take it personally . . . doesn't trust anyone."

"I know," said Carson. "To be honest, I was more than happy to let him check us on this one." The physician's face became somber, his eyes looking sadly toward his patient. "Colonel . . . I have no idea how to apologize for the way you were treated . . . for the assumptions I made. I've seen people ignore psychological problems in those that they care about because they couldn't bear to face the prospect, thus delaying treatment and ultimately causing more harm. I vowed a long time ago to never wear blinders to such illnesses. I suppose I've swung too far in the opposite direction."

"S'll right. I know you were just trying to do what was best. And you had no way of knowing the nanites could hide." John closed his eyes, having a moment of silent gratitude for being back in Atlantis and for the hallucinations being over. "I'm just glad it's over."

"Aye, lad, I'm sure you are."

Forcing his eyes back open, John looked back up at Carson. "She'll be okay, right?"

Carson smiled as he placed a strong hand on John's shoulder. "She'll be fine with a little rest, same as you. I'll get you a little something for that headache and you can get some rest."

Remembering the nightmare, along with the previous hallucinations, John groaned. "No, thanks Doc, but I think I'm good for now." He wanted to retain a little lucidity for as long as he could. He was sick of being drugged and he was sick of being completely out of control. The headache was worth it if he could just be him for a while.

Carson looked like he might argue, but the stopped short, closing his mouth. He looked at John a long moment before nodding. "All right, Colonel, I guess I can understand that." The doctor looked at Ronon and then Teyla. "Try not to wear him out too much," he said before leaving them alone.

They remained silent for several minutes before John finally looked at Ronon and then Teyla. "This . . . this is real . . . right?"

Walking over to stand beside the bed, Teyla took his hand in hers. "Yes, this is real."

"Good," he whispered, squeezing her hand. "I just . . . I need this to be real. I need you guys . . . to be real." He felt a strong touch on his other arm and looked up to see Ronon squeezing his upper arm.

"We're real, Sheppard, and we aren't going anywhere. Neither are you. Now go to sleep."

Fighting the growing heaviness of his eyelids, John smirked at his teammate. "Is that . . . an order?"

One side of Ronon's mouth twitched as he raised his eyebrows just a little. "Does it need to be?"

Letting his eyes slide closed, John concentrated on the touch of his friends, his family. They were real. _This_ was real. "Nah . . . might just take . . . little nap."

"We will be here when you wake up," Teyla said softly.

With a long, deep exhale, John finally relaxed back into the mattress, secure in the knowledge that they really would be there when he next opened his eyes. The nightmare was finally over.

TBC

_One more chapter to wrap things up. By the way, I wasn't fussing at you guys. I know this story has some . . . well, some things that just don't seem right. I've discovered 3 people working on a story tends to set you up more for that kind of thing and it's harder to resolve. One person sets up a situation and someone else has to get them out of it and a third person ends up trying to explain it. It gets confusing!! Especially to my overtaxed, subfunctioning brain._


	18. Chapter 18

**THE CONNECTION...part 18**

John didn't remember much of what went on for the next two days. He spent most of it sleeping, sleepwalking to the bathroom with Ronon's guidance, or sipping juice and broth through a straw for the few minutes he managed to stay awake after that. Then he'd let sleep pull him back down into her warm darkness. It wasn't until he started dreaming again that he finally managed to reach full consciousness.

Fletcher's face flashed in John's head, jolting him awake and making his heart pound so ferociously in his chest that John was almost certain it was going to break a rib. Sitting upright he pressed one hand to his chest and focused on trying to breathe.

"Easy, Colonel," Carson soothed, having reached his side. He rubbed soothing circles on John's back for a moment and it seemed to help as the tightness in his chest finally unraveled.

"Better," John whispered, accepting a glass of water with a trembling hand. He sipped half of it down, using the time to pull himself back together.

Carson was watching him closely. "I'm guessing...bad dream?"

John nodded as he handed back the glass. "A real doozy." Closing his eyes for a moment, John shuddered as he could still see the hazy imprint of Fletcher's face in his mind.

"Just keep reminding yourself the nightmare is over and you're safe now," Carson said solemnly.

"Yeah." John was reminding himself of that fact right now, like a silent mantra. After a moment he opened his eyes and saw sadness and regret etched on Carson's tired face. "Stop feeling guilty," John ordered, his tone sharper than he meant it to be.

But it got Carson's attention. "Easier said than done, son," was the soft reply. "And that's a bit like pot versus kettle."

John winced, knowing how true that was. So he didn't deny it, he simply offered a bit of advice. "Beating yourself up about the things you can't change doesn't help anyone. You're not going to forget what happened or forget the guilt you feel, but you can learn to tuck it into a box and bury it somewhere. You might stumble over it from time to time, but most of the time you'll be able to step over it and move on."

"Wise words, Colonel," Carson said, looking a bit surprised and a bit less regretful. "I'll be taking them into account. Thank you."

"Been there, done that," John conceded as he shifted against the pillow. His body felt heavy and achy, the way he always felt when he had to stay in bed for too long. He also felt gritty and a bit sweaty. "So what are the odds of me being released today?" John asked, because he was itching for a shower and some privacy.

Quirking and eyebrow, Carson shook his head. "Not today, I'm afraid. Maybe in a day or two, though. You've been through hell and back, son. You need to rest and I want to monitor you for a time."

The response didn't surprise John so he didn't argue against it. He figured if he went along willingly then he might score enough brownie points for an early release anyway. He did, however, have a request he wasn't about to let be denied. "Can I get a shower and sweats?"

"You can get a shower, but I'd prefer you in scrubs," Carson countered, puttering about the bed as he took John's vitals.

"I'd really like out of scrubs," John replied, his voice going a bit hoarse with emotion as he remembered how he'd felt in Fletcherville, always clad in the white scrubs, much like the ones he was wearing now. He didn't realize he was trembling at the memory until Carson's warm hand clamped onto his shoulder.

Blue eyes appraised him. "Another bad memory?" He asked, astutely.

John nodded. "Yeah. Do you at least have scrubs in a different color?" he countered, hopefully.

"I don't suppose it would hurt to let you wear sweats," Carson allowed, catching on to John's trauma, even if he didn't fully understand it. Thankfully he didn't ask so no explanations were necessary.

"Thanks, Doc." John didn't hide his relief.

A pat to his shoulder and Carson was turning away. "I'll radio for Ronon to come and help you with the shower," he called over his shoulder.

It was on the tip of John's tongue to shout back that he could handle it on his own, but he knew it was probably a lie. He felt drained and lethargic and he knew his legs would be like rubber. Better to let Ronon help him than fall on his face. With his luck he'd probably break his nose. So John settled in to wait.

He ended up dozing off for about twenty minutes, but the shower did wonders for him and he felt more awake and aware than he had in far too long. John wasn't happy about having to climb back into bed, but Carson promised he could take a walk down the hallway, with Ronon, if he ate all his breakfast.

Happily, the scrambled eggs and toast set before him actually smelled good. John didn't manage to clean his plate, but he did well enough that Carson let him take his walk. On the way back they ran into Elizabeth. She had been released the day before, which made John a bit jealous, but he didn't let it show as he greeted her with a smile.

"You doing okay?" he asked, as she fell into step beside him.

"I am now, thanks to you," Elizabeth replied. "Feel up to talking?" She looked uncomfortable as she asked.

But John nodded. Talking wasn't his strong suit and they both knew it, but he could see the guilt she wore like a cloak and he wanted to set things right between them. "Maybe Carson will let us sit on the balcony." John was dying for some fresh air and sunshine and during his little walk he had seen the bright sky outside.

Carson met them as they reached the doorway and, apparently, he'd overheard John's comment. "If you let Elizabeth push you in a wheelchair...you can go," he allowed.

"It's not that far!" John protested. So, of course, his knees choose that moment to buckle.

Only Ronon's grip on John's arm stopped him from hitting the floor. "You were saying?" The Satedan rumbled, looking amused.

John glared at him, then pouted as Carson suddenly appeared with the dreaded wheelchair. He would have argued further, but Ronon pretty much shoved him into the chair, so arguing was now a moot point. John was still pouting when Carson stepped behind the chair and began pushing him back into the infirmary. "Hey!" John hissed. "You said I could go out to the balcony?"

"That was before you nearly collapsed," Carson shot back.

"My sea legs haven't come back yet," John countered, gripping the wheels to the chair skidded to a sudden stop. "I'm okay, Carson." He cricked his neck around to look up at his friend. "I'll stay in the chair, I promise. Just let me get some fresh air."

"I won't let him stay out long," Elizabeth chimed in.

John shot her a grateful look, releasing the breath he hadn't realized he was holding when Carson nodded permission.

"But no longer than half an hour or I'll send Ronon to get you."

"Promise," John replied, resisting the urge to shudder. He all too clearly remembered the other times the Satedan had come for him at Carson's bidding.

Apparently Carson remembered too, but a look of horror crossed his face. "Oh, laddie...I'm sorry!"

John cut him off with the wave of one hand. "Nothing to be sorry for. It's old news." He smiled to let Carson know it really was okay. To show, by example, that they could let it go and move on. Then he looked at Elizabeth. "Ready for some sunshine?"

"Ready." Elizabeth looked to Carson for a moment before taking her place behind the chair. A few minutes later and she was wheeling John out onto the balcony. "It's a beautiful day," Elizabeth whispered.

"Yeah...it is." John took a moment to soak up the warmth before turning his chair so he was facing Elizabeth. "Before you say anything, I want to tell you something." He paused to see if she would argue with him, but she simply nodded. John felt a bit of the tension he'd been feeling ease. "You're not to blame for anything that happened, Elizabeth. You had no control over it. You know that and I know that."

Elizabeth looked shaken and her face paled. "But I sent you to that place, every time I touched you. You suffered so much-" She broke off, choking on a sob and looking more vulnerable than John had ever seen her.

Pushing out of the chair, he took the two steps over to where she'd turned away from him, placing both hands on her shoulders and waiting until she looked at him to speak. "Everything that happened to me was because of the nanites. Period. You had no more control over what happened than I did when I woke up the Wraith." He was reminding her of the talk they'd had two years ago, when she'd confronted him after the debacle with Chaya coming to Atlantis. Elizabeth had caught him brooding and she hadn't let him walk away until he'd admitted to the guilt he was feeling. He would use her own words against her now, if he had too.

But Elizabeth was shaking her head. "I get it, John. I know what you're saying and...you're right. It's just easier to say the words than to live by them."

"Don't I know it," he replied, dropping his hands from her shoulders and moving to the balcony to stare across the water. The sun felt good on his face and a smile curved his lips. They all carried heavy burdens and wrestled with so many ghosts, but John kept reminding himself that they were alive to live another day and sometimes that was all that mattered in the end. The losses hurt, but it was all about counting the wins.

"If Carson catches you out of that chair you're in for it," Elizabeth commented, as she joined him at the railing. She looked more at ease, a few of the lines around her mouth smoothing out and making her look younger.

John chuckled. "I won't tell him if you won't."

Elizabeth waggled a finger at him. "All bets are off if you pass out on me."

"I promise not to do that," John vowed, solemnly crossing over his chest before making the scout's honor sign.

"Were you ever a boy scout?" Elizabeth countered, looking amused as well as curious.

"Didn't make it past cub scout," John confessed, without telling her why. Maybe someday he'd share that story though, but it was a sharp memory and he didn't want to think about anything but how good it felt to be alive. "Hey, want to sneak off for coffee?" He was dying for a cup but he knew Carson would have a bird if he asked for some in the infirmary. Getting Carson to keep his IV out after his shower had been difficult enough.

Before Elizabeth could reply, the balcony doors slid open and they both jumped. John almost made a dive for the wheelchair, expecting the intruder to be Carson, but it was Rodney who strode towards them, looking irritated.

"Why are you never where you're supposed to be?" he grumbled at John. "I have questions I haven't been able to ask for days."

"Figured you would," John replied, moving to sit in the wheelchair again, just in case Carson did pop in on them. "Ask away," he invited.

Elizabeth glided to John's side and patted his shoulder. "I'll leave you to it, but don't stay out here long or Carson will have both our hides."

John snagged her hand before she could walk away. "I'll make sure Rodney takes me back on time." He locked eyes with Elizabeth and asked, "You're okay?"

"I am," Elizabeth said softly. "And so are you." It was more a question than a statement, but she couldn't hide the hopefulness that colored her tone.

"I am," John confirmed, letting her slip away at that. He turned back to see Rodney eyeing him with curiosity, but he didn't want to get into it with his friend. So he side tracked him by asking, "What do you want to know first?"

John then spent the next twenty minutes trying to answer Rodney's questions about Fletcherville, still talking as McKay wheeled him back to the infirmary just in time. Once John was settled back in bed, Carson shooed Rodney out, telling him to come back after lunch. John didn't protest a nap, sliding easily into sleep. He dreamed again and when he woke up it was Teyla soothing him this time.

Rodney had brought Teyla and Ronon with him and they, in turn, had brought lunch for everyone. So while they ate, John answered more questions, finding it easier to talk about what had happened with Rodney making it seem more a scientific quest for answers than him offering to share the tale of his traumatic adventures. But sharing it was helping.

Getting released to his room the next day helped more. John spent most of the day behaving. He ate and rested and did nothing more strenuous than walk down the hallway with Teyla and play chess with Rodney. They didn't talk about Fletcher or the nanites or any of what had happened again, for which John was grateful. So he suggested having movie night in his room and Rodney rigged up a big screen, while Ronon and Teyla brought snacks and drinks. They let him pick the movie.

John decided on the first Harry Potter movie, figuring it was something they could all enjoy. He goodnaturedly accepted Rodney's ribbing that he looked like a grown up Harry Potter, content to munch on popcorn and simply enjoy being in his own room and surrounded by his friends.

Halfway through the movie, he felt his eyelids grow heavy and he didn't resist the pull of darkness. Instead he curled up on his side, letting Teyla cover him with a blanket and even sighing a bit as she smoothed his hair before she settled back down beside him.

This time, as he slid into slumber, John didn't fear dreaming. He knew Fletcher couldn't hurt him anymore. Not with his team there to keep him connected...To the real world.

**THE END**

_**Thanks for sticking with us!**_


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